Getting Acclimated
by albino-ottsel
Summary: After the incident with the Dark Makers, Veger finds himself ottsel-ized and stranded in Spargus. Here, he is at the mercy of the blistering heat, violent sandstorms, dangerous townsfolk and, worst of all, an obnoxious new roommate. Set between Jak 3 and Jak X. No pairings. Rated for language, suggestive themes, and violence.
1. What If

"Oh yeah, life is good."

_The hell it is,_ the fallen count thought as he watched the goddamn rat and the goddamn Dark Eco freak and their goddamn friends exit the Arena, talking and laughing, like the world hadn't been on the precipice of destruction the day before. From what he could hear, it sounded like they were planning to return to Haven right away to celebrate. If he could sneak onto the air train before it left...

"Well, ratface, whaddya say I show ya 'round yer new home?" the brute who abducted-sorry, adopted-him as his pet said, rudely interrupting his thoughts.

"Ah, um, ahem..." Veger shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, he had almost forgotten about the guy whose shoulder he was standing on. Kleiver was looking at him expectantly, and the ottsel had no idea how to respond. Should he try to trick the oaf into getting him close to the air train? Should he make an excuse to leave his sight, then sneak out of the city? Make a break for it-no way this fat slob could run very fast-or simply request to _not_ be his "sidekick" and to be allowed to leave?

As these thoughts and others raced through his mind, Veger remained silent. Kleiver, ever the patient man, waited an astounding nine-and-a-half seconds before taking Veger's lack of response as a "yes."

"Awright, then, off we go," Kleiver said, heading up the stairs and out of the Arena. "I'm gonna show ya me home-sweet-home first, then the pub to meet me mates. Gotta make sure they don' mistake ya fer a pest or a snack or somethin', heh heh heh."

Veger gulped. The thought of more than one Kleiver running around nearly made him faint with terror, but he managed to keep it together.

"Uh, flattered as I am that you've chosen me to be your, er, companion, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Veger said. "I don't want to sound unappreciative or disingenuous, but I find that Spargus is much too arid, inauspicious and anarchic for my liking, and-"

"What?" Kleiver asked, eying him with dislike. "Talk like a normal person, ya uppity rat."

Of all the times his experience as a bullshit-spouting politician had to fail him, it had to be _now_. "Wh-what I mean to say, is, um, I-I have a lot of work to accomplish back in Haven and-"

"_Haven_?" Kleiver spluttered angrily. "_Haven?_ You want to give up all of _this_," Kleiver gestured to their view of Spargus from atop the Arena stairs, "for that smoke-spewing city o' cowards and weaklings?"

"That smoke-spewing city is my _home_," Veger snarled, his anger overriding his sense of self-preservation, "and its people are smarter, stronger, and _cleaner_ than anyone _Spargus_ could produce."

He expected an explosion of rage, a obscenity-filled diatribe, or even being plucked from his perch and thrown down the staircase. What he did not expect was for Kleiver to seethe for about a second, and then chuckle and stroke his mustache.

"Your home, eh? That so? 'Cause to hear Jak and them tell it, ya didn't care 'bout it so much that ya wouldn't topple the Palace and flatten half the city _and_ its people."

All of Veger's fury and dread evaporated in an instant, leaving him numb. He wanted to defend himself, explain that the greater good had depended on that sacrifice, or just say that his reasons were noble and that he didn't have to explain his actions. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't speak, even to tell Kleiver to shut up.

Kleiver had won the argument already, but he wasn't through yet. His smirk grew crueler as he grabbed Veger and stared into his eyes.

"Ya think they'll keep mum 'bout whatcha did? Think they won't tell ev'ryone that yer the one what did it? Even if ya wasn't a lil' brown rat, ya'd never survive going back. Even if they tossed ya in jail, ya wouldn't be safe. Haven ain't yer home anymore, mate, and it won't be ever again."

And that is how Veger became a truly broken man.


	2. Bad Company

Too hot. It was much too hot. Living creatures were never meant to endure such suffocating heat. And yet, as Veger looked around, he found that they _were_ enduring. Thriving, even. He could see a small marketplace that was selling fresh produce. Kleiver was complaining about a kanga-rat infestation in his storeroom. Spargus' small population was out en masse today. Veger wondered if so many people had really been banished out here, and then he spied a group of children playing by the ocean.

Of course. This was a city. A city built by criminals, but a city nonetheless. Sometimes he forgot that these were actual people, with the corresponding... desires. And what really amazed him was that the children seemed to be doing well. If this city and everything it stood for didn't repulse him so, he might have admired their ability to organize and survive against such adversity.

"'Ere we are, ratface. Me humble home," Kleiver said. Veger looked up at the building before them. Like every other building in Spargus, it was made of mud brick. The door was made of wood, though where they got wood in the desert he had no idea. As Kleiver walked up the stairs and opened the door, Veger noticed that they were very close to the gate that led to the garage. He heard a faint roar, and looked to the sky just in time to see the air train fly off towards Haven.

Dejectedly, Veger looked around the place he would now be calling home. Unsurprisingly, given who lived here, the room was filthy, and smelled worse than it looked. There was something in here that smelled oddly, unpleasantly familiar, though he couldn't place it. The kitchen to the left was used often, judging by the buildup of dirty dishes and the scraps of meals. In the middle of the room there was a round table surrounded by folding chairs, covered in the stains of spilled food and drink, and a few errant playing cards. There was an old sofa against the right wall, and on the far wall were four doors. Behind one, which was falling off its hinges, he could see a staircase that led to a second floor.

The smell of liquor was strong, and Veger began to suspect that he was going to be reliving the worst part of his college days. Well, if Kleiver thought he was going to hold his hair out of his face while he threw up, he had another thing coming. Speaking of which, that unidentifiable odor Veger had noticed earlier? He had finally figured out what it was, and was about to add to it.

"Oh... oh my..." Veger murmured, holding his head as a wave of nausea hit. "Wh-where is the bathroom? I-I'm about to be ill."

Kleiver looked at the ottsel strangely. "The bathroom? Wha's a bath?"

Veger had enough time to think _That explains so much_, before jumping from Kleiver's shoulder to the window sill, throwing open the shutters, and breathing deeply and desperately. If there was one thing that could be said for Spargus, its air was fresh and clear of pollution. Just when Veger thought his stomach had settled and he could bear to re-enter the room, he heard Kleiver open a pantry and another rotten smell drifted his way.

"Aw, the coatiguana's spoiled. Oh well, add some extra spice and ya'd never know it."

With a loud retching sound, an unfortunate kanga-rat was showered with a round-trip lunch.

* * *

Veger spent the rest of the daylight hours leaning out the window, trying to figure out how he was going to survive out here. He couldn't stand being near this buffoon for a minute, never mind _living_ with the man. But he couldn't simply live on the streets. If only he knew someone else out here... Someone who would help him rather than send him to certain death in the Arena.

But he _did_ know someone! Seem might be a friend of Jak's, but she was his ally too, and beyond that, she was a monk who had dedicated her life to serving the Precursors. Everything about the Precursors may have ended up being a disappointment to him, but Seem had no such issue, and he had the sneaking suspicion that she had known the truth long before he had discovered it for himself. There was no way a pious monk like her would allow him to fend for himself in this unforgiving hellhole, even if he wasn't a Precursor. But since he _was_...

As Veger contemplated ways of getting to the temple without being eaten by a wild animal or shot for sport, Kleiver prepared a dinner of roasted coatiguana covered in all manner of pungent spices. When Veger heard it announced that dinner was served, he didn't even turn to look at his plate before politely telling Kleiver that he'd rather starve than eat a rotten slab of meat. Kleiver responded by reminding him that if he wanted to survive, he'd eat whatever he was given and be thankful for it, damn it.

Eventually, the sun began to disappear behind the mountains. Kleiver finished cleaning his gun, probably the only cleaning he ever did, and grabbed his coat. When he got to the door, he grabbed Veger by the scruff of his neck before heading out.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're taking me?" Veger said, trying to wriggle out of Kleiver's grasp.

"The pub, remember?" Kleiver threw Veger over his shoulder and continued down the street. "Told ya, gonna introduce ya to me mates. We always meet up fer drinks after sunset, 'fore it gets too cold."

"Cold?" Veger asked as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position.

Kleiver chuckled. "Yer not too familiar wit' deserts, are ya? Gets kinda chilly at nights, what with the lack o' humidity to keep the heat in. That's basic science, y'know?" Was... was that _condescension_? This simpleton was being _condescending_? To _him_? Unacceptable!

"Do. Not. Patronize. Me," Veger ground out through gritted teeth. "I have... had... more important things to study than climatology."

"Climo-what?"

"Never mind." Rather than continue the argument, which was sure to give him a migraine, Veger decided to take in his surroundings. It would serve him well to know where the decent hiding places were so he could move about the city in relative safety.

The twilit streets were, if possible, even busier than they had been earlier that afternoon. It seemed Kleiver wasn't the only one going out to enjoy the reprieve from the day's heat. There were children playing tag and chasing the family Leaper Lizards under the watchful eye of their parents. On one stoop, there was a group of teenagers hanging out, enjoying each others' company and smoking a substance that was likely illegal back in Haven. On another, an old man was stargazing wistfully.

As they passed through the cavern that separated the eastern and western sections of the city, there were city workers lighting the torches that would provide illumination throughout the night. Veger cast an eye down the alley that led to the palace entrance. A group of men were solemnly and reverently carrying a wooden crate onto the elevator, a crate that Veger immediately identified as a makeshift coffin.

_Damas..._ he realized. That was right, he thought he'd overheard someone mention that the king's funeral would be soon. He sincerely hoped he wasn't expected to attend; Jak was certain to be there. Besides, he hated Damas, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Veger definitely hadn't lost any sleep over his banishment. Really.

"There it is," Kleiver said, pointing out a nondescript building ahead of them. Nestled between the shops and homes along the perimeter of the city was a bar that could only be identified as such by the graffiti over the door that read "BAR" and the crowd of drunkards hanging around outside.

Veger shrank down on his perch, hoping to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He'd never liked going out and partying, even when he was young. When his peers could be found hitting the clubs until 3 in the morning, he would be staying up reading his history books in case there was a sentence he hadn't memorized yet.

Kleiver walked through the door, receiving a gruff but polite nod of acknowledgment from the doorman, who glanced at Veger quizzically. Veger looked down, telling himself not to make eye contact with anyone. The bar was loud and dark, as all bars were, and Veger was amazed that Kleiver found his friends so easily.

"'Ey, you ankle-biters, how are ya?" Kleiver asked as he took a seat at a table in the back. There were two other men already there, and one woman. For some reason, Veger felt like he'd seen two of them before, but did not spend more than a second looking at them. Spargus was a small city, it was likely he'd spotted them out on the streets earlier that day.

"Hello, Kleiver. Nice to see you, as always," the woman said. Veger was surprised to hear such a refined manner of speech in a seedy dive like this. He stole a glance at her, and immediately wished he hadn't. The woman might have been attractive at one point, but her time in the Wasteland had done a number on her. She was missing her left eye, along with a good chunk of her ear. At first her arm seemed to be intact, but then he realized that it was a prosthetic. Her tank top also made it painfully obvious that she was missing her left breast, and Veger wondered what could have mutilated her so badly.

His attention didn't go unnoticed, and the woman looked at him. "Eyes up here, dearest."

Veger's face flushed, and he was certain it could be seen through his fur. "I-I beg your pardon, ma'am, I didn't mean to stare."

"Oh, it's alright, little one, I'm used to it," she grinned. "Ever since I was a teenager, men have had a hard time ignoring me."

Veger wanted to clarify that he was staring at her wounds, not admiring her physique, but thought better of it. He kept silent and looked away as the rest of the table laughed.

"You are very difficult to ignore, babe," one of the men said. He was bald, though judging from his age it was likely a stylistic choice. He had neglected to shave his face, however, and had a short and scruffy beard. Whereas Kleiver was rotund and the other man was muscular, this one was slender, and compared to his companions he was downright scrawny. But the fact that he was sitting here laughing instead of pushing up daisies meant that he was a lot more dangerous than he looked, and Veger reminded himself to stay wary of this one.

"So, what's the deal with the rat, huh?" the third stranger asked, poking Veger with a fork. He was a redhead with a goatee and closely cropped hair, and seemed to have the beginnings of male pattern baldness. Both ears had been shortened considerably, though whether it was due to injury or personal preference was unclear. The most remarkable feature was probably his distinctive tattoos: stylized flames over his left eye and around his right wrist.

"Oh, this 'ere's me new sidekick. Say 'ello, ratface," Kleiver said, giving Veger a shove. The ottsel stumbled into the center of the table, where all eyes were on him.

Veger cleared his throat awkwardly. "H-How do you do?"

"Ain't from around here, is he?" the bald man asked. He jabbed a thumb to the left. "Oughtta give him a proper Spargus welcome."

Veger looked in the direction the man indicated and felt his knees grow weak. Somehow, he hadn't noticed that most of the noise in the bar was the hooting and hollering of the patrons as they watched two caged kanga-rats duke it out. The pen was made of a chain-link kennel, with plywood around the base to keep the blood splatter in the ring. The kanga-rats had had their tails chopped off and blades implanted into their paws to make them deadlier. Eventually, one fell and did not get up. The winner's owner entered the cage and held his kanga-rat triumphantly as he collected his winnings.

At their table, the redhead handed the woman a few bills. "Damn it, that's the last time I take a bet against you."

The woman counted the money smugly. "I told you, I know a winner when I see one."

"Even though you can barely see," the redhead muttered.

"Come again?"

"How 'bout it, Kleiver?" the bald man said. "Think your new pet has what it takes to be a Wastelander?"

"Gee, I dunno. Wanna give it a go, ratface?" Kleiver asked.

Despite the direness of his circumstances, Veger let his temper flare briefly. "Would you stop calling me that? I have a _name_, you slovenly brute. It's _Veger_."

A hush fell over the bar and all eyes turned to him. Only then did Veger realize how loudly he'd been speaking, and that his name would probably not be well-received by his present company.

"Veger?" the woman hissed. She got up and leaned toward him, forcing him to take a few steps back. She had one withering glare, and that eyepatch wasn't helping any. "I knew a guy named Veger once. He was the stuffy old blue-blood that left my kin and myself to shrivel up and die out here."

"Tossed all of us out here," the redhead said, pulling out a knife and absentmindedly scratching the table. "Indirectly, in some cases. My parents were banished before I was born, for instance." He eyed Veger closely. "They always said they wanted to see the bastard responsible skinned alive..."

All around him, patrons were murmuring, hands going to their weapons. Just when Veger thought he would soil himself, or faint, or die, or some combination thereof, he was unexpectedly saved by none other than Kleiver.

"Oh, come off it, ya blighters," he said with a sigh. "I don' think this count o' yours was a scrawny lil' rat. A name's a name, and nothing more. Why, if I had a nickel for every bloke I knew called Faima, I'd be a rich man. Ain't that right, Anna?"

The woman chuckled humorlessly and sat back down, and around them the activity picked up again. She took a swig of her drink. "You are correct, dear friend. You are correct."

_Faima... Anna Faima?_ Now Veger knew where he'd seen her before. He had personally banished her and her family to the Wasteland several years before. She and her husband had been trying to build a criminal empire to rival the Mizos in Kras, but their problem was they were impatient. They tried to do too much too soon, and that led to the couple and the rest of their lot being cast out. Thanks to him, the Faima crime family had been wiped from Haven's streets as fast as they had tried to dominate them.

And now Veger was face-to-face with them again. He wondered how many of the people he was sure to meet during his time here would hold a grudge against him for his time as the Chairman of the Grand Council. While he himself had only carried out the sentences a few times, for the most heinous of criminals, he was the one who had condemned them all. If any of them found out that he was, in fact, the same man who had sentenced them to what was essentially a slow and miserable death, he would be no safer here than he would be in Haven.

The bald man, her husband, whose name Veger vaguely remembered being Graham, put an arm around his wife. "Aw, I know how you feel, babe. Tell you what, tomorrow we'll go out and slaughter a few Marauders. That make you feel better?"

Anna smiled. "Oh, honey, you always know how to cheer me up."

The two rubbed noses, and Veger felt like he would vomit for the second time that day. Was this really the same couple that had ruled the criminal underworld with an iron fist for half a year? It seemed for once that he and his new roommate were in agreement, as Kleiver made a loud gagging sound.

"Oi, get a room you sods. I came out 'ere to get pissed, not watch you two make googly eyes at each other," he said.

"Speaking of getting a room... Yo, sweetheart!" the redhead called out to one of the waitresses, who sauntered over, her look of boredom being covered with a mask of sultriness.

"What can I do ya for, sugar?" she asked.

The redhead gave her a lecherous grin and stuffed a couple bills down her low-cut shirt. "There's a bit of gratuity for ya, and there's a little more coming your way, if you... come my way."

The waitress giggled. "Sure, hon, whatever you want. Just lemme know when you're ready." With a wink, she returned to her duties.

Veger fought back a shudder. Cheap booze, cheap whores... no wonder this place was so popular.

"Really, Shiv, do you have to solicit your lady friends in front of us?" Anna asked.

"Hey, if ya don't like it, ya don't have to come here," Shiv replied. "There's a pretty classy joint just up the street. I hear they serve wine and everything."

While the two of them discussed whether or not the inclusion of wine on tap made a place "classy" or not, Veger pried Kleiver's attention away from his bottle to whisper to him.

"Can we _please_ get the hell out of here?" Veger asked. "I feel dirty just standing here."

_"You_ can go, if ya want," Kleiver said. "I think the upstairs window's unlocked. You can get in that way. Jus' don' break my stuff."

"I, er, I'm not sure I'm comfortable walking these unfamiliar streets alone... at night..." Veger replied, wringing his hands nervously.

"Tough shit. Yer choices are stay 'ere wit' me, or walk home on yer own."

"Um... Might I just wait for you outside?"

"Suit yerself, ratface."

Veger jumped off the table and nearly ran out the door. Outside was blissfully quiet, as the rowdy mob of lightweights had since dispersed. Veger found a place that was near the door, but out of the way, and sat down, sighing heavily. This had been one trying day, and he feared that it wasn't over yet. As he stared at the heavens, wondering how it had come to this, he heard odd footsteps come his way. _Pat, clunk, pat, clunk_.

"Enjoying the view, little one?"

Veger jumped and looked up. It was Anna, and Veger could see that she had a prosthetic leg to go with her arm.

"Um, yes, it's... It's nice."

"Mm." Anna regarded him for a moment before sitting down next to him. "You know, he's never been to Haven."

"Pardon?"

"Kleiver," Anna clarified. "He wasn't born in Haven City. Neither were his parents. In fact, he's descended from some of the original settlers of Spargus. He's the closest thing to nobility we've got here, if you can believe it."

"That's... that's fascinating, but I don't see why you're..."

Anna turned to look at him, and Veger felt the temperature plummet. He knew that look. That was the cold, scheming, "I'm going to make you suffer" look. He'd given that look to others plenty of times, and now he was on the receiving end.

"His ties to Spargus go back further than most people's. His bloodline found its way out here long before most of ours did. He wouldn't know the title of the one who was responsible for casting people out. I never said he was a count, only that he had blue blood, and yet he knew. Like he knew the person I was talking about." Her gaze hardened. "Figure it out, yet?"

Veger swallowed hard as everything clicked into place. He was frozen with terror, and soon found himself staring into her eye as she clasped him around the neck and lifted him as she stood.

"I know who you are, Count Veger. I don't _what_ you are now, or how it happened, but I don't really care." Gone was the refined, sickeningly sweet lover he'd seen in the bar. Standing in her place was the cold-blooded mob boss he'd thrown out of Haven. She smirked as she saw it sink in. "And trust me, now that you're outnumbered and outgunned, the day will come when you pay for what you did to the Faima clan."

Anna squeezed Veger's throat, making him choke, before she dropped him and went back inside. He coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath. Never had he been more terrified in his life. He had faced down a Dark Eco freak with a short fuse and an armory's worth of firepower with only a pistol, and he hadn't felt as powerless as he felt now.

"Oh, Precursors... what do I do?" he whimpered quietly. Shaking, he leaned against the wall and hugged himself. "I've got to get out of here..."


	3. World So Cold

**Author's Note: Yeah, I did change the genre. I wanted this to be Humor, I really did, but after two chapters I realized that I'm not funny, and it was coming out as Drama anyway, so whatever man. I'll try to throw in some amusing bits, but that's not what I'm good at, apparently. Anyway, onward!**

It was sometime around eleven when Kleiver and Veger got home for the night. Veger had considered telling Kleiver about Anna's threat, but decided to wait until morning. He was just too exhausted to get into what would probably be a long and taxing argument. He was so tired, in fact, that he didn't even care that the house was disgusting. At the moment, it was _safe_.

"I think it's time I settled in for the night," Veger said, yawning. He walked over to the sofa and started to climb up.

"HOLD IT!"

Veger froze, one hand on the arm rest and a leg in mid-air. He looked at Kleiver with wide, frightened eyes. "Y-Yes?"

"I don' want you shedding all over me couch.

There was a pause as Veger let that sink in. "...What?"

"You 'eard me. I don' wanna be cleaning rat fur off me couch."

_You don't do __**any**__ cleaning!_ Veger wanted to shout, but he bit his tongue. He was in no mood to piss off the one guy standing between him and having a gang with a grudge rip him to pieces.

"In that case... Where will I be sleeping?" Veger asked.

Kleiver shrugged. "I dunno. I'll whip up a bed or somethin' for ya tomorrow, but fer t'night... you can sleep in the bathtub."

Veger blinked at him. "The... the _bathtub?_ But-"

"I know, I know, I toldya I didn't know what a bath was. I was just messin' wit' ya. Anyway, g'night. See ya in the mornin'." Kleiver stretched as he walked into his bedroom and the door slammed behind him. A moment later, there was a loud creak as he lied down on his bed, and soon chainsaw-like snoring filled the house.

Veger stared at the door for a few moments before shaking his head irritably. "The bathtub... Does he really expect me to sleep in a plumbing fixture while there's actual furniture right here? Like I'm going to sleep in his damn bathtub..." Keeping a wary eye on Kleiver's door, Veger climbed onto the sofa and lied down. It wasn't supremely comfortable, but it was better than nothing. Casting one more glance at the bedroom to confirm that Kleiver wasn't going to burst out and demand he vacate the sofa, Veger curled up and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"OI! Didn't I say ya couldn't sleep there?"

"Aah!" Veger yelled out in surprise as he was quite literally yanked out of his slumber. He soon found himself dangling from Kleiver's fist.

"Answer the question, ratface. Did I give ya permission to sleep on me couch?"

"I-I thought that you couldn't possibly have been serious," Veger said, "after all, it's such a ludicrous thing, to insist that I take the bathtub while-"

"Shaddup and listen, furball," Kleiver snapped. "This here is MY home, get it? I get to decide who sleeps where, and if I say I don' want ya shedding on me furniture, then ya don' shed on me furniture."

"But I can't sleep in the bathtub!" Veger whined.

"Yer gonna be sleeping on the roof if ya don' do as I say," Kleiver said before dropping the ottsel on the floor and heading over to the kitchen. "Now keep yer bitching to a minimum, will ya?"

Veger dusted himself off and glared, but didn't say anything more on the subject. If Kleiver was true to his word, he'd have other sleeping arrangements soon. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

"Ahem, Kleiver, there's something I need to speak with you abou-" Veger was cut off by a loud rumbling sound. He looked around in confusion before realizing that it was his stomach. He hadn't eaten for almost a whole day, and until now he hadn't had time to think about how hungry he was.

Kleiver chuckled as he prepared breakfast. "If yer 'bout to beg me for somethin' to eat, don' worry about it. I'm not the type to hold a grudge."

Veger suspected that was a crock of shit, but kept quiet. If there's one thing he'd learned over the past two days, he wasn't in a position to be mouthing off to people anymore. And wouldn't you know it, when he _was_ in the position to do so, he hadn't. Much. Life's funny like that.

Kleiver walked to the table with two plates. From his vantage point on the floor, Veger couldn't see what it was, nor could he smell anything particularly different. Whatever it was, it likely wasn't spoiled. Good enough for him.

The Wastelander sat down at the table and nudged a chair out with his foot. As Veger clambered up, he reflected briefly on the fact that he seemed to be using his sense of smell more often, and chalked it up to animal instincts taking over. Yet another reason the Precursors weren't as great as they pretended to be: they still relied on lesser senses. Veger vowed to never give into any animal habits.

And then he saw what was on his plate. Fruit. Bread. _Fresh_ fruit and bread! His stomach grumbled again, and Veger had to seriously fight the temptation to eat like... Well, like an animal. Or his roommate. He had something important to talk about.

"I'm... grateful," Veger started before taking a bite of a pitaya and _oh sweet Precursors this is so good_ he meant it. Without Kleiver's hospitality, such as it was, he would be shit out of luck. The ottsel swallowed and gave into the urge to take another bite _holy crap this is ambrosia_ before getting back to the topic at hand. "But, I'm afraid I have something... unpleasant to discuss with you."

Kleiver continued eating, but had the decency to chew more quietly so that Veger could continue. After it was clear that he still had the floor, Veger cleared his throat.

"It's about your... your friends from last night. Specifically, the woman. Anna Faima."

Kleiver snickered around his mouthful of food. "Got da hotsh fer huh?"

"I... what? No!" Veger was aghast. Of all the conclusions for him to jump to... "No, no, no! That is the furthest thing from my mind!"

"Mm-hmm..."

"What I was _going_ to say is that because of your carelessness, she _knows who I am_! She knows I banished her and her gang from Haven City, and she's threatened to _kill_ me!" Veger's voice grew higher as he was seized by a bit of panic. Laying it all out like that made it all the more clear just how much trouble he was really in.

"Whaddya mean 'my carelessness'?" Kleiver asked, affronted.

"Did you not hear what I said? My life is in imminent danger!" Veger cried.

"I heard ya. I heard ya blame _me_ for it, when I'm the one that saved yer skin," Kleiver growled. "Why dontcha explain that for me?"

"I... ugh!" Veger groaned in exasperation. "Look, I know you meant well, and you probably did prevent them from killing me last night, but Anna saw through it when you said I was a count! She called me by my title and told me _to my face_ that she planned on taking her revenge!"

Kleiver finished his meal, still glowering at Veger. "Well, if you 'adn't yelled yer name out like that, she never woulda guessed it. So it's really yer own damn fault."

"Well, they would have asked my name eventually! What did you want me to do, make one up?" Veger asked.

"That's what smart people do when they wanna hide who they are," Kleiver replied simply.

"Listen, you-"

_Knock knock knock_. Veger looked to the door in worry, fearing that it was the Faima gang come to deliver their promised retribution. Kleiver looked to the door in annoyance, wondering who would be disturbing him this early in the morning.

Whoever it was knocked again, and a voice on the other side called out, "You home, Kleiver? I got a message for ya!"

Kleiver sighed and got up. Veger had not recognized the voice, but did not relax. He couldn't remember the voices of everyone he'd banished out here, after all, especially when he could barely remember their faces.

Kleiver scratched himself idly as he opened the door. "What the hell d'ya want?"

The messenger handed a piece of paper to Kleiver. "I was sent here with a summons from Sig. Don't know what it's for, don't care. I'm just doin' my job."

Kleiver glanced at the paper. It was an envelope with his name scrawled on it, sealed with a bit of wax. Fancy. Kleiver looked at the messenger, who was still standing there, with a hand held out.

"Oh, ya wanna tip? Here's a tip: get off my porch 'fore I get my gun."

The messenger glared at him, but wordlessly turned and walked back down the stairs. Kleiver slammed the door and returned to the table, ripping the envelope. Veger continued eating his breakfast and watched as Kleiver read the letter, brow furrowing.

"Agh..." Kleiver grumbled. "Pain in the ass..."

"Bad news?" Veger asked.

"Just says here the new Wanker-in-Chief wants to talk to me, but that almost always means more work," Kleiver said, dropping the paper on the table and grabbing his dishes. "Like I don' 'ave enough to do..."

"The _what_-in-Chief?" Veger asked, leaning across the table to look at the letter.

Despite his bad mood, Kleiver grinned. "Ya don' know what a wanker is?"

"I'm guessing it's not a nice term," Veger said.

"Ya got that right," Kleiver snickered. He leaned against the counter and pretended to be thoughtful for a moment. "Lemme see, how to explain it? A wanker is... someone that wanks."

"I see, it's crystal clear now. Thanks ever so much," Veger said, obviously unamused.

"Jus' tryin'a think of a way to say it without offending yer delicate sensibilities," Kleiver said, earning a snort and an eyeroll. "Alright, then, I'll make it simple. 'Wank' means 'masturbate'."

Veger coughed, nearly spraying half-chewed bread across the table. He swallowed before speaking. "I... see."

"Heh heh heh, guess they got other ways of insultin' people where yer from, huh? Or are ya Haven folk too 'sophiscated' fer that?" Kleiver said.

"Not all Haven folk..." Veger muttered, more to himself than his roommate. "But yes, people in my circle wouldn't use something quite so... vulgar... to describe someone they didn't like."

"Whatever. Anyway, I'm gon' head out." Kleiver grabbed his gun from the rack near the door and strapped it on. "The sooner I see what that wanker wants the sooner I can get my work done. You can do whatever the hell ya want while I'm gone, jus' don't break my shit. 'N fact, don' even touch it."

"As you wish," Veger said without looking up, instead using the last of his bread to soak up the fruit juice on his plate. The second the door closed, Veger dropped the bread and grabbed the letter.

The letter was written on official-looking stationery, with a header that read "From the desk of King Damas, ruler of Spargus" with the name Damas crossed off and the name "Sig" written underneath. Obviously they weren't going to waste perfectly good paper. But Veger wasn't looking at that. He was staring at the royal insignia emblazoned at the top. It was the Seal of Mar.

"Oh, Precursors..." he whispered. That symbol brought back so many memories, most of them good, but too many of them were bad. And now, even the good memories were tinged with sadness after all that had transpired between him and the royal family. He banished the thoughts from his mind like an eco freak from Haven, and turned his attention to the letter, which had been typed, most likely on a typewriter rather than a computer.

_To: The Aldermen_

_Regarding: New legislation, funeral arrangements, trade relationships, Veger_

Veger inhaled sharply at the mention of his name, which was written in instead of typed. This most definitely was not going to be good.

_This is a reminder that a vote on the legality of kanga-rat fighting and other blood sports involving non-humans and unconsenting participants will be taking place on the third of next month, and if you are unable to attend the meeting you must send in your vote ASAP or your opinion will not be taken into consideration._

_In addition, a forum will be held on the subject of replacing volunteer vigilantes and bounty hunters with an official police force, and..._

"I thought this was a monarchy..." Veger mused. His interest in how Spargus was run was piqued, and instead of skipping paragraphs to find what he'd originally wanted, he read the whole thing. From what he could gather, Spargus' reigning king did have the final say in most matters, but there was an upper circle of important citizens, or "aldermen" who were consulted for their opinions, and Kleiver was apparently one of them. Well, he _did_ own (and single-handedly maintain) the only vehicles Spargus had available.

_King Damas will be laid to rest in two days' time, on the..._

Veger skipped the rest of that paragraph. He didn't want to know. He didn't care. He planned to just stay inside the whole time. Maybe he could get some cleaning done.

Next on their agenda was the state of their relations with Haven City. Despite popular opinion being that the Havenites could go die in a fire, with a new government in place in both cities, they were a potentially valuable ally and trading partner. They had technology that could make life in Spargus easier. Veger was unsure about how he felt about that: an alliance would make things a little more bearable, but it was highly unlikely. Most of Haven didn't know Spargus existed, and the citizens of Haven would likely not approve the alliance anymore than Spargus would.

Veger had almost forgotten that he was among the important issues at the start of the letter until he got to the final paragraph, which was handwritten at the bottom of the page, underneath the signature. Unlike the rest of the letter, this was addressed to Kleiver specifically.

_Kleiver,_

_You know damn well that Veger's not welcome here. Not just because of what he did to Jak, but because of what he did to most of our fellow citizens. You better have a good reason for taking him in, and you'd better get your ass over here as soon as you get this letter to explain it to me, otherwise I'm going to throw his sorry ass into the Wasteland._

_Sig_

Shaking, Veger put the letter down and leaned back. He was in even deeper trouble than he thought. He should have know that a personal friend of Jak's being on the throne would bite him in the ass. He wasn't sure if the fact that Sig was keeping this between himself and Kleiver instead of bringing the whole city in on it was good for him or not. Either way, he couldn't depend on Kleiver bailing him out this time. Sig's friendship with Jak would trounce any chance Kleiver had of convincing Sig to spare him.

Now there was nowhere Veger was even comparatively safe. Waiting for Kleiver to return was out, as he was sure to be followed by Sig or one of his agents to expel him from Spargus. Trying to escape to Haven was impossible as well, as the air train had not returned, and venturing out into the desert alone to try and make it to the catacombs was suicide. And he had nowhere to hide.

Veger dropped to the floor and began to pace as he thought over his options. His only chance, it seemed, was to try to find Seem or one of her monks. But trying to make it to the Precursor Temple out in the Wasteland was laughably foolhardy, to say the least, and while he knew there was a monastery somewhere in the city, he didn't know where it was. Wandering these streets, even if the Faimas weren't out for his blood, was as risky as anything else. There were all manner of dangerous creatures and citizens that wouldn't see him as anything more than a pest, or a snack.

With a sigh, Veger made his decision. He would try to find the monastery somewhere in the city. Out of all his options, it was the least likely to end with his death. Besides, he had faced danger before. It wasn't easy making it through the Dark Maker-infested ruins, but he'd managed. This was just like that, only he was unarmed. And less than three feet tall. And it was a veritable oven outside. And he didn't know where he was going. But other than that, totally the same.

Nervously, but without further hesitation, Veger left the house.


	4. Would It Matter

Even this early in the morning, the sun's rays were as strong as ever, and the sudden heat that hit Veger as he stepped outside nearly knocked him over. Making a mental note to stay in the shade as much as possible, he closed the door behind him and walked down the steps.

The neighbor's tethered Leaper Lizard looked at him curiously, and Veger made sure to stay well out of its reach. He continued down the street, which soon opened up into a large open space. There were a few buildings standing independently of the stone perimeter, and he could see the stairs leading to the Arena.

Suddenly, Veger wished he'd thought to read about the funeral plans. They were likely to include something about the monks performing a memorial service, and it might have mentioned something that would help him find the monastery. It was too late now, though, with the door closed and locked behind him. Instead, Veger chose to walk counter-clockwise around the perimeter, as that was where the shade was at the moment.

Most of the buildings he passed seemed to be residences, or small shops run out of someone's residence. There was a group of children of all ages, from kindergarteners to near-adults, entering one of the smaller buildings out in the middle and Veger realized that it was likely a schoolhouse. It might have been styled after one of the outdated all-grades-in-one-room schoolhouses of the distant past, but the fact that there was any kind of academic institution out here appealed to the scholar in him, and a he smiled briefly.

Only briefly, however, because he had not been watching where he was going and had inadvertently stepped on a sleeping Leaper Lizard's tail. It woke with a snarl and snapped at him. He cried out in surprise and took off on all fours. When he was safe from its wrath, he realized what he was doing and immediately slid to a stop before standing again. He would have to try even harder to resist his newfound beastly impulses.

The rest of Veger's search in that section of the city turned up nothing, and soon it was time to go to the western section. He paused at the entrance to the cavern. What if he ran into Sig or one of his guards in there? Of course, if he didn't risk it, he'd never find the monastery.

Steeling himself, Veger entered the cavern. There were homes here, too, and Veger kept an eye out for any kind of signage that might identify a monastery. Or, he would have, had he not heard the elevator hit the ground the and doors open.

Without looking to see who it was, Veger dashed into the crawlspace underneath someone's porch. He felt something crawl over his hand, and he had to bite his lip to keep from shrieking like a little girl. It was a spider, and he didn't know whether it was poisonous or not. He wasn't going to wait to find out and, grabbing a rock, smashed it.

Pain shot up his arm, but it was worth it to take another vile creature off of this earth. Except he had missed and the spider, none the wiser, continued on its way. Veger blew on his self-inflicted injury and vowed to kill every spider he came across for the rest of his life. His plans for a lifelong vendetta against arachnids vanished when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs above him, along with voices.

"I swear, he's scheduling these things specifically so I can't make it to the vote."

"Oh come on, you know that's a steaming load. If he didn't want you to put in your two cents, he wouldn't be giving you alternative ways to do so."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think all that time he spent in Haven's gone to his head, made him soft. Next thing ya know he'll be wanting us to be chums with 'em."

_Oh, you have no idea_, Veger thought. He snuck a peek out from his hiding place. The two men he'd heard he didn't recognize, but he guessed at least one of them was an alderman. They were heading to the eastern section of the city, and as he looked around, he found that whoever had left the palace wasn't around anymore.

Since the coast was clear, Veger darted out of his hiding spot (on _two_ legs) and into the next part of the city. From the mouth of the cave, he could feel the wind coming off the ocean and smell the salt in the air. Having never been to the beach before, it was unfamiliar, and yet soothing. Those "sea breeze" scented soaps simply didn't do it justice.

Veger glanced back and forth. He wasn't sure which way to go, but that soon became a non-issue when he spotted a group of monks down the hill around a large building, the largest independent structure he'd yet seen.

_Bingo_. Veger ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the monastery. As he drew closer, he saw that the monks were standing outside, facing the ocean, and seemed to be doing some kind of yogic exercise. There was a melodic, low hum, and as Veger listened, he recognized it as a chant in the ancient Precursor language. Seem, as the head monk, was leading their meditation.

The ottsel sat down next to the stairs, in the shade, and watched. If he remembered his studies of ancient Precurian correctly, this chant was one of gratitude for all that existed: the land, sea, and sky, the plants and animals, happiness, light, love, yadda yadda yadda. He didn't know what the forms they were practicing meant, or if they were even anything more than stretches.

After what seemed like hours, the monks finally finished their exercises. The group split into several and went their separate ways to attend to the day's work. Seem was amongst those that were heading into the monastery. Veger waited until he heard the door close before moving. He knocked on the door and waited. Eventually, someone opened the door a crack.

"Speak." There was no mistaking that voice.

"Seem, it's me."

The door opened farther and Seem stepped out, looking down at him. Veger knew she wouldn't have been thrilled to see him, but he didn't think she would have looked at him with such contempt when next they spoke.

"Why are you here?" She certainly didn't want to put up with him for longer than necessary.

"I need your help," Veger said.

"You needed my help before, too," she replied coolly. "You used my help to further your own selfish plans and make others suffer."

"I am a _Precursor_, and you _will_ help me!" Veger snarled, trying a different tactic.

"I will do no such thing. You may have the form of the Precursors, but that is all you have. You do not have their powers, or else you would not need my help." Seem stepped back and started to close the door. "Nor do you have their purity of heart, or you would have been taken with them."

Before the door could latch, Veger stuck his foot in the doorway to catch it. An old trick, but one that worked. Seem glared down at him.

Veger looked up at her, shoulders slumped in defeat. "Please," he said desperately, "I'm in grave danger, Seem, and you're my only hope. Please, _please_ hear me out."

Seem continued glaring at him for a moment, before sighing. She looked at him sadly. "I am sorry, but I cannot. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed the people of Haven. You betrayed Damas. Given the opportunity, you would betray the people of Spargus. Even Kleiver, who has offered you sanctuary."

Veger tried to object, but Seem did not allow herself to be interrupted.

"Everything you have done, you have done for yourself. You only claim it was for others to spare your own conscience. Your pride has caused the Precursors to see fit to punish you this way. Whatever befalls you from now on, it is what you deserve.

"If you are fated to die here, you have only yourself to blame. If you are fated to live, it is up to you, and no one else, to see to it that you survive. Prove yourself to have the strength of a Wastelander, prove yourself to be worthy of the body you now possess, and redeem yourself. Otherwise..."

Seem knelt down and kissed the top of his head before gently forcing him to back up.

"May the Precursors have mercy on you." With a click, the door closed.

Veger stared at the door, unsure of what to do. He had been so focused on getting here, on finding Seem, that it had never occurred to him to think of something to do if she refused to help him. Of course, the thought that she would refuse to help him never crossed his mind.

Slowly, Veger turned and walked toward the ocean. More and more people seemed to be out and about now, and none of them looked his way, despite the fact that he wasn't even trying to hide. When he got to the beach, he found a rock outcropping and sat in its shadow.

Alone. He was all alone, now. No one could help him. No... anyone _could_ help him. The problem was that no one _would_. He had alienated everyone he'd met, even his allies. His friends. Seem was right, he had betrayed everyone who had ever cared about or depended on him. He was only out for himself, and if a few people were saved by monsters, great. If a few people were crushed by a falling palace, oh well.

Veger squeezed his eyes shut as tears started to spill. Why was he even trying to survive? What did he have to live for? He'd never married, never had a child. Everyone in his family was dead, or might as well have been. He'd never had many friends, and most of them he'd lost contact with or outright broken off ties with. The rest had since died, some through his own actions. His life's work had crumbled to dust around him. His things would end up thrown out or donated to whoever could use them. His apartment would be rented out once the lease was up, if not sooner. He didn't even have a pet waiting for him at home. He literally had _nothing_ left.

Through blurry, wet eyes, Veger looked up at the tall rock at the water's edge, upon which sat a turret. If he fell from there, he would crack his head open on the rocks. If he didn't bleed out, he would drown in the ocean. He'd never survive a fall from that rock...

"Bunny!"

Startled, Veger looked towards the voice. Two small children, one who was on the cusp of being school age, and one who was merely a toddler, were looking at him.

The little one spoke again. "Bunny!"

"He's so cuuuuuute!" his older sister squealed. "Hi, bunny! Are you lost?"

Veger shifted away from them. This was the last thing he needed right now, two barbarian brats to decide he would be a fitting target for their burgeoning murder skills. The older one looked like she favored blunt objects, judging from the baseball bat in her hand.

"Aw, you look sad. Are you sad? Do you want some candy?" the little girl reached into her pocket and held out a piece of dried, sugar-coated fruit.

The ottsel stared at it. It was covered in lint, but that wasn't why he was staring. He was staring in disbelief. This little girl, born of vicious criminals and raised amongst them... was offering him candy? Just because she thought he needed cheering up?

"N... no, thank you," he murmured hoarsely.

The little girl gasped loudly. "You can talk? Cooool! Say something else! Say... say 'boogers'!"

Veger almost laughed. She was just any little kid. Inquisitive, fascinated by the world around her, easily amused. Give her some messy red hair and a squirt gun and he could have been looking at a 4-year-old Ashelin. Give her brother some green hair and blue overalls and he could have been looking at...

"I... I'd rather not," Veger said.

"Awwww, you're no fun," she pouted.

"I'm a grown-up, I'm not supposed to be fun." Veger got to his feet and wiped his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave."

"Where are you going?" the girl asked.

"... Home," Veger lied. What else was he supposed to tell her? That he was pretty much just waiting to die?

"Okay... Will you be back tomorrow?" she smiled. "I've never met a talking bunny, and I wanna tell all my friends!"

"I don't think so, dear. And I'm not a bunny."

"Oh... Then what are you?"

"That's a good question..." he murmured. Without another word, he headed down the street, leaving the little girl and her brother to stare at his back.

"Bye-bye bunny!" the toddler giggled.

_Goodbye, children. Goodbye, world..._

* * *

"There ya are! I was wonderin' where ya'd wandered off to!"

Veger passed through the door, walked past Kleiver, and climbed into his chair from this morning. To his surprise, his breakfast plate was not where he'd left it, but a new bowl filled with stew was in its place.

"It's been sittin' there awhile, so it's prob'ly cold, but don' expect me to warm it up for ya. If ya wanted a warm lunch, ya shoulda been here." Kleiver waited for Veger to complain that he hadn't been told when lunch time was, or that he had no way of telling the time anyway, so how could he have known to come back? But the ottsel was silent. Kleiver tilted his head slightly. "'Ey, what's yer problem? Got sand in yer ears?"

Veger didn't move. "I read the letter."

Silence. He heard Kleiver shift his weight from one foot to the other. Veger expected him to yell at him for snooping through his mail, especially when he'd been specifically instructed to not touch his stuff. But instead, all he got was:

"... Yeah? So?"

"So..." Veger turned to face his roommate. "My time is up. I'm out of options. Frankly, I'm surprised Sig isn't here to personally throw me out of the city. Or has he given the honor to you, and _this_," he indicated the stew, "is just more of your cruelty?"

Kleiver shook his head. "Ya got a lot to learn about the Wastelanders, mate." Kleiver walked over and sat down in another chair. "Look, I was gonna wait 'til ya'd had yer lunch 'fore I told ya, but since ya already know the first part o' the story..."

The Wastelander leaned back in his chair and pulled out a flask (where had he been keeping it?). After taking a gulp, he started his story. "Yeah, Sig wanted ya gone. Still does. But 'e's more'n Jak's mate now, y'know? 'E's Damas's hand-picked successor. 'E can't go 'round tossing people 'e doesn't like into the Wasteland. B'lieve it or not, we got a code, and we follow it.

"When I went to meet 'im, Sig asked me 'ow much I really knew 'boutcha. So I told 'im, 'Bloke used to be a big-shot over in Haven, then got changed like the blonde girl. Killed a buncha folks, from what I 'ear. Got unofficially kicked out, prob'ly woulda been made official eventually.' And the wanker looks at me like 'e's surprised I did me 'omework. Then 'e says, 'You're Jak's friend, aren't you?' an' I go 'Wouldn't call 'im a friend, but I respect the bugger. Don' mean I'm gonna 'bandon the Wastelander way for 'im.'

"That got 'im right pissed, it did. 'You sayin' I'm turnin' my back on our values?' he goes, an' I say 'Mate, you toss the rat out 'cause 'e done wrong, yer doin' jus' what them blighters in Haven do.' Then 'e's got the nerve to bring _Damas_ into it, sayin' 'Damas wouldn't show mercy to the guy that-' but I wouldn't let 'im finish. 'Damas would let 'im earn 'is place,' I said. I said, 'Damas was all 'bout giving second chances. Damas wouldn't let it get personal. That's why 'e was our leader.'

"Then 'e kinda sighs, like 'e thinks I's right, which I was. Finally, 'e goes 'Ya know that most of Spargus would love to see 'im put to death fer sendin' 'em out 'ere to die, right?' An' I go 'I know, I ran into some of 'em already.' Then he says 'Ya really think ya can protect 'im from a city-wide lynch mob?' An' I say 'I don' gotta protect 'im from anythin'.'

"... At least, that's what I _wanted_ to say. I remembered what ya'd tol' me this morning, so I knew it was only a matter o' time 'til the Faimas came after ya, or 'til word got 'round. So's I said 'So whaddya wan' me to do? Give 'im to you so 'e can die out there 'stead o' in here?' He turns it 'round and says 'Whaddya want _me_ to do?' An' I think for a minute, 'cause I honestly 'ad no idea.

"I 'ate to admit it, but it was 'im what finally thoughta the answer. He says 'Ya really think Damas'd let 'im be a Wastelander? Fine, then. If ya bring 'im 'ere and get 'im to pledge 'is loyalty to Spargus in fron' o' me an' the rest o' the aldermen, I'll give 'im the chance to earn 'is citizenship. 'E'd never win an Arena fight, so I'll think o' somethin' 'e stands a chance in 'Ell of survivin'. That soun' fair?'

"So that's it. Durin' the meetin' next week, I'm bringin' ya to swear yer 'legiance to Spargus and 'er people. Then it's just a matter o' findin' someway fer ya to earn yer citizenship like the rest of us did."

Kleiver took another drink from his flask to wet his throat after his narrative. Veger stared at him, unable to decide how he felt about it. On the one hand, how could he swear fealty to a city he loathed? Would they even _believe_ him? And it was no guarantee of safety, only that the government of Spargus wouldn't take action against him. All it would do is give him a little extra time.

On the other hand, _he was getting a little extra time_. Minutes ago, he thought he was as good as dead. Now he had a chance. A slim one, admittedly, but a chance nonetheless. A chance for what? He didn't know. Redemption? Survival? Did he even _want_ either of those things?

"What're you staring off into space fer? You ain't seriously thinkin' of sayin' no, are ya?" Kleiver asked. "An' after I spent all mornin' making that damn bed..."

Veger blinked at him. He'd... he'd really done that? For him?

The ottsel looked down at his stew and saw his own reflection staring back at him. He hadn't seen himself since he'd changed, and though he looked a mess, he didn't immediately cringe away from the sight of his own face. Taking the spoon, he swirled it around in the stew. When the broth settled, his reflection reappeared, and something had changed. He looked determined.

Did he want to live?

"Yes," he murmured, almost too quietly for his companion to hear. He brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth. It was lukewarm at best, and had far too many spices, but it didn't make him gag.

"Yes, what?" Kleiver asked.

Veger looked his companion fiercely in the eye. "Yes, I will go with you to that meeting, and yes, I will promise my loyalty to Spargus."

Kleiver grinned. "You've got some fight in ya, ratface. We'll make a Wastelander outta you, yet."

Veger looked back at his stew. _Not if I have anything to say about it._


	5. Remember Everything

The early morning sun hit Veger in the face, and with a groan, he sat up. The "bed" Kleiver had constructed for him two days prior had turned out to be an old ammunition crate with some pillows stuffed into it. It had rusted out on the bottom and Kleiver had "fixed" it with a sheet of cardboard and a few strips of duct tape. It was a piece of shit, but it was better than nothing.

Veger glanced over at his roommate's empty bed. He'd always been an early riser, and the fact that someone was actually up before him was... jarring. He blamed it on the fact that he was still used to Haven's time zone. A few more days and he'd be up and about before the sun, like normal.

Normal... ha. What was his "normal" now anyway? He'd been here four days and still didn't have any kind of routine down, and that irked him. He _needed_ routine to function. He needed _planning_, forethought. Kleiver's roll-with-the-punches mentality just didn't sit well with him, and he wondered how the hell he got anything done when he never sat down to think things through.

Veger got out of his bed and walked out into the main room. Kleiver wasn't there, but he could hear water running in the bathroom. Heading into the kitchen, he climbed onto the counter and started looking through the cabinets. There was jar of dried fruit up here _somewhere_...

There was a squeak from the bathroom and the water stopped running. Veger found the jar he was looking for and tried to open it, but the lid was stuck. Sugar evidently made a really good adhesive. After fighting with it for several minutes, it finally came loose and he grinned. Hooray for small victories!

Veger sat down on the counter and enjoyed the fruits of his labor. The bathroom door opened and he glanced over, another piece halfway to his mouth, and nearly dropped it in shock. Kleiver was... clean! His hair was still wet from the shower, and Veger could smell the faint but unmistakable scent of soap. Kleiver was wearing his usual outfit, with one noticeable addition: a black armband around his right bicep.

"... What're you starin' at?" Kleiver asked gruffly.

Veger didn't reply, as he seemed to still be processing this strange turn of events. Kleiver sighed and sauntered over, grabbing the jar out of Veger's lap. He shoved a fistful of its contents in his mouth before closing the jar and returning it to the cabinet.

"Is there a special occasion today?" Veger asked when he recovered his voice.

"The funeral," Kleiver replied.

Veger nearly choked on the piece of fruit he'd just put in his mouth. Of course, how could he have forgotten? Oh yeah, no one had brought it up, and if he hadn't read that letter, he wouldn't have even known it was today.

After coughing for a minute, Veger cleared his throat. "Oh... Yes, of course."

"Put this on," Kleiver instructed, holding a small strip of black cloth out. "Can't dress all in black out here, or we'd die o' the heat, so we wear these to show mournin'."

Rather than argue, Veger took the cloth and tried to tie it around his arm. With only his left hand, however, it turned out to be more difficult than he thought. After watching him struggle, Kleiver sighed and did it for him.

"Thanks..." Veger muttered. He wondered how Kleiver had tied his own armband before it occurred to him that he had a lot of practice. Death was nothing new out here, and people died almost everyday.

"The service'll be at the Arena. The whole city'll be there," Kleiver was saying. "Yer gonna be wit' me on one o' the platforms."

"Um... I don't think I should attend," Veger said. "I don't think there's anyone who would be happy to see me there, and frankly, Damas and I... did not part on good terms."

Kleiver looked at him. "So? Who cares what anyone thinks? This is yer chance to make it up to him, by being there to say g'bye."

"Or, this is my chance to insult his memory one last time," Veger replied. "Three guesses how my presence there will be seen by Jak and everyone else who knows who I am... and what I did..."

"What was that last bit? Never mind, don' care. Look, I think ya should be there, but I ain't gonna force ya to come," Kleiver said. He wiped his hand on his shirt and headed for the door. "The funeral's gonna start 'round ten, but everyone'll be in the Arena by nine-thirty, so if ya change yer mind..."

"I won't," Veger assured him.

Kleiver shrugged and left. Veger looked down at himself. He hadn't had the time or energy to groom himself since becoming Kleiver's pet, and being filthier than _him_ simply would not do.

Half an hour of scrubbing passed before Veger felt presentable again. As he got dressed, he wondered whether or not to put the armband back on. It's not like he was in mourning. Then again, Kleiver would probably pitch a fit if he saw him without it, and he'd had enough of pointless arguments to last him a lifetime.

Veger glanced at the clock. 9:45. He still had time to get to the funeral and say goodbye to his old friend...

_No. No, no, no. Not an option._ And yet, he found himself heading towards the door. _Why should I even go?_ The door opened and a warm breeze blew in. _I was responsible for his death, and nearly for his son's as well._ The streets were deserted. _Had I died that day, he would not have come to __**my**__ funeral._ The stairs leading into the Arena were a lot higher than he'd realized. _Or perhaps he would have, for the chance to spit on my grave._

Hidden from view, Veger peeked out into the Arena. From where he was, he could see Sig and the aldermen on the center platform, high above the ground. On one of the side platforms were Jak and his friends. A massive pyre had been built in the center of the Arena, and he could see the coffin containing Damas' body at the top.

"Citizens of Spargus, today we say farewell to the greatest leader of our generation."

As Sig addressed the crowd, Veger suddenly flashed back to that day, years before, when everything changed...

_"Citizens of Haven!" Baron Praxis' voice boomed through every radio and television in the city. "Today, we say farewell to the greatest disgrace of our generation!" He was speaking from the Palace, before an audience of council members and other officials, and his Krimzon Guard had wired up cameras and microphones to broadcast his speech to the entire city._

_"Damas has failed to protect the city from the Metal Head menace, and last week's slaughter has made it clear that we need new leadership. Someone who can take the steps necessary to protect you and keep you safe." From his place at the back of the room, Veger watched as a flag bearing Praxis' emblem was unfurled behind him. The symbol of the Guard soon covered the banner with the insignia of the House of Mar. Outwardly, the emblem hadn't changed, but what it symbolized had._

_"I will be that someone. Under my leadership, the city will not only survive these wars, it will prosper and grow in ways no one dreamed of since its founding!"_

And now he's comparing himself to Mar,_ Veger thought contemptuously. His hand went to the pin on his lapel. A scrap of a Precursor artifact. _If anyone here could hope to be the kind of beacon of light that Mar was, it is me. _Praxis was too single-minded to stand up to the threat that was coming their way, a threat even bigger than the Metal Heads. He hadn't listened when Veger had tried to warn him about the ominous shape drifting through space in their direction, an abomination that had tried to ruin the world once and was now returning to finish the job, according to his texts. Praxis had no respect for the Precursors or their secrets, unless it gave him the power he craved._

_"By allowing the Metal Heads to run roughshod over us, Damas as betrayed our faith in him. He has caused us enough suffering, and as punishment, he will be banished to the Wasteland." That part was actually true. Damas wasn't cut out for leading in a time of war. He hadn't been ready to take the throne when his parents were killed, and his inexperience and unwillingness to listen had cost the city dearly._

_That was why Veger chose to support Praxis' mutiny, slipping him information and helping to sow the seeds of discontent amongst the Guard. While Praxis thought that the Precursors were ancient history, he understood that the remnants of their time here were still relevant. Damas thought they were ancient history and that any discussion of them should stay in ancient history textbooks. He hadn't listened to Veger's warnings either, and had the gall to tell him that he was wasting his life chasing the ghost of a civilization whose time had long passed._

_But he would show them. Once the Metal Head threat had been taken care of, Veger would turn the Guard against Praxis as easily as he had turned them against Damas. But while he waited, he had to prepare for the arrival of that mysterious threat, and unlocking the secret of eco channeling was a good place to start. He just hoped Praxis never found out that **he** was the one who took the boy..._

In the present day, Veger watched the monks light the pyre while everyone looked on in silent reverence. It was strange, having a place so large and full of people utterly silent, save for the crackle of the fire.

_If only you had listened..._

As the funeral came to a close, Veger decided it was time to leave. He went unnoticed as the crowd of mourners exited the Arena, or so he'd thought. He had just made it down the stairs when he heard a voice behind him, a distinctive, grating voice he'd hoped never to hear again.

"You got some nerve showing your face around here."

Veger stopped and turned around. A few steps up the staircase was Daxter, arms folded and eyes narrowed. Like everyone else, he was wearing a black armband.

Veger scoffed. "That's rich, coming from _you_."

"Cram it." Daxter walked the rest of the way down the stairs and advanced on the older ottsel, who took a step back. His intuition was telling him to turn tail and get the hell out of there, but he didn't. He refused to be cowed by Jak's whiny, obnoxious, immature pet.

Except, Daxter wasn't _just_ Jak's whiny, obnoxious, immature pet. He was Jak's best friend and partner-in-crime, and Veger was reminded of what exactly that meant as he stared into eyes that had seen death and destruction, eyes that had seen countless horrors, eyes filled with anger and hatred, all directed at him.

"You're an even bigger piece of shit than I thought, and that's saying something," Daxter continued. "I mean, I honestly have no idea what to say, except how _fucking __**dare**__ you_?"

"Kleiver said he thought I should come," Veger said lamely.

That got a bark of disgusted laughter from Daxter. "Oh, yeah, okay, that makes it alright. I mean, it's not like you're the reason Damas is dead and Jak's an orphaned, broken husk of a human being. Oh, wait, no, it's exactly like that."

The two were now eye-to-eye, and Veger's whiskers twitched with anxiety.

"Believe it or not, Veger, I'm going to do you a favor." Oh, he was in deeper shit than he'd thought. Daxter had dropped the name-calling schtick. "I'm not going to tell Jak you were here. He's suffered enough because of you, and I'm not going to have him thinking about what an asshole you are any more than he already is."

Daxter started to head back to the stairs, where Jak, surrounded by his friends, was starting to descend. He sent the older ottsel one last glare. "Now get the fuck outta here, before I let Jak put a bullet in your head, like someone shoulda done a long time ago."

Veger immediately took Daxter's suggestion and disappeared into the crowd before he could be spotted by anyone else who would have liked to see his brains blown out all over the sand.

* * *

Three more days passed, and the day Veger had been waiting for (and dreading) arrived. Perched on Kleiver's shoulder, he was brought to what was simply called the House, the building in which official business was conducted. It was directly in front of the Palace, and as they walked up the steps, Veger remembered the tense minutes he spent under the porch, and thought about how he'd rather be back under there with the spiders than where he was at the moment.

"You ready fer this?" Kleiver asked.

"Y-yes, of course," Veger said nervously. "I go in, tell them I'll serve Spargus forever and ever and ever, and then we leave, right?"

"It's... not quite that simple," Kleiver replied.

Kleiver opened the door and stepped into the foyer. It was plain and nearly devoid of any furnishing. Directly ahead of them was a pair of large wooden doors with ornate carvings, the only real decoration in the room. There were several other, less impressive doors on either of the side walls. In one corner was a desk with a receptionist.

The receptionist looked up from his paperwork. He took one look at Veger and pointed to one of the lesser doors. "Sig says he's supposed to wait in there until the end of the meeting."

"Thanks," Kleiver said. Kleiver went to the indicated door and opened it. Behind the door was a room with a table with two chairs, and a single jail cell.

"I'm to be locked up?" Veger asked.

"Nah, otherwise there'd be a guard on duty," Kleiver said. He picked Veger up and placed him on the table. "These meetin's can last awhile, so I'll ask 'em if they got a deck o' cards or somethin' to keep ya busy."

Kleiver turned to leave, only to see the receptionist standing there, holding out a deck of cards. Kleiver smirked and took it. "Yer good, mate."

The receptionist shrugged. "S'what I do. Now get in there, you're already late as it is."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Kleiver said. He looked back at Veger and handed him the deck. "See ya in a bit, mate."

"See you..." Veger mumbled. Kleiver left, followed by the receptionist, who closed the door behind him. Veger heard what he was sure was the sound of the door being locked, but didn't bother to check. He wasn't planning on taking off, anyway. He looked at the deck of cards before realizing he didn't know any games that could be played by a single person. He sighed. This was going to be a long wait.

Several hours later, Veger was almost finished building a house of cards when the door opened. He was standing on his toes, about to put the last two cards on the top, and the whole thing collapsed. Veger made a face before dropping the cards in his hands and jumping to the floor.

The receptionist escorted him across the foyer, to the large doors. He knocked before opening the doors and announcing Veger's presence.

In the room was a large, semi-circular desk on a raised platform, at which seven people were seated. Sig was in the center, which had been built slightly higher than the rest of the desk. There were three people seated on either side of him, some of whom Veger recognized. Kleiver was on Sig's right side, all the way at the end. The two people next to him were the men Veger had seen exit the building the other day. Seem was on the left side, seated between a man and a woman Veger didn't know.

"Come in, Veger," Sig said, motioning to the small circle in front of the desk. Veger walked obediently down the aisle, between rows of seats that at the moment were empty. Had a normal-sized man been standing there, he would have felt dwarfed by the enormous desk before him. With his newly reduced stature, Veger felt like it was a behemoth that could swallow him whole.

"Alright, let's cut to the chase," Sig said. "This is what's gonna happen. We're gonna ask you a few questions, and then we're gonna decide if your answers mean you deserve to stay here."

"I-I thought I just needed to swear my loyalty," Veger said, looking at Kleiver out of the corner of his eye. The Wastelander didn't seem to notice.

"We'll get to that," Sig said. He cleared this throat. "Okay, let's get this over with. Veger." The man's voice took on a different tone, one befitting a king, or a judge. "Do you acknowledge that banishment to the Wasteland is unambiguously a death sentence?"

Veger was surprised. "What does that have to do with-"

"Everything, rat," the man next to Kleiver said. "Answer the question."

What _was_ the right answer here? Saying no would make him look innocent... or ignorant. Saying yes would make him look like a monster... or a man who could own up to what he'd done. Plus, saying no was an obvious lie, and would not make him look good.

Veger sighed. "Yes."

There was little reaction from the gathered aldermen. No surprise there. Sig glanced down at the papers in front of him before looking at Veger again. "Next question: Did you attack the Palace in Haven City?"

"I had to, I needed to get to-"

"A simple yes or no will do, Count," Seem said. Veger looked at her in shock. As per usual, her face betrayed no emotion.

"He's not a count anymore, from what they say," the man from earlier commented snidely.

Veger glared at him. "... Yes, I attacked the Palace."

Sig shook his head slightly. Jak had told him that's what happened, but he'd had trouble believing the count could really have done such a thing to the city he claimed to want to save. "Would you say that makes you guilty of high treason?"

Veger's stomach churned as he answered: "Yes."

"And if you were brought before the Grand Council in Haven City, would you have been banished to the Wasteland?"

"Yes, probably."

"Probably?" the man Veger was liking less and less said. "What else would they have done?"

"Oh come off it, Volta," Kleiver growled. "It ain't important."

"Of course it is," Volta said.

"No it's not, and we're moving on," Sig said. He looked like he disliked Volta almost as much as Veger. "So, do you admit that you belong out here?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Sig seemed satisfied. "Now for the real reason you're here."

_Thank goodness,_ Veger thought. _I just want to get out of here._

"Do you promise to do everything in your power to serve the people of Spargus?"

"Yes."

"Would you lay down your life for Spargus?"

"Y... Yes."

"Last question. Do you, Veger, hereby shun all ties to Haven, its people, and its ideals, and vow to follow the law of the Wasteland from now until your death?"

Veger started to answer, but the word caught in his throat. Why couldn't he answer? It was so simple: just say yes, Haven sucks, yay Spargus. It might have been a lie, but it was a lie that would save his life. Besides, nothing had stopped him from lying before.

At his hesitation, Volta sneered. "Well, rat? What do you say?"

Veger looked at the ground in front of him as he thought. Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed. He looked at the aldermen, then at Sig. Looking the king squarely in the eye, he gave his answer.

"No."


	6. Justify

"_WHAT?_"

Kleiver wasn't the only one who had cried out in shock. No one in that room had expected that answer. The only one who was silent was Seem, and even then her jaw had dropped.

"'As the heat gone to yer head?" Kleiver yelled.

"After all of that, you won't turn your back on Haven?"

"This was a waste of time!"

"Settle down, all of ya!" Sig snapped, firing a shot into the air. Veger stole a glance at the ceiling. It was peppered with bullet holes and burn marks. Clearly they needed a better system for getting rowdy crowds under control.

Sig pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "He's answered the question, now let's get on with the vote. Kleiver, since you brought him here, why don't you go first?"

Kleiver chuckled. "Ya mean, since you all know what I'm gonna say, let's get it outta the way, right? O' course, I'm voting yes. I think 'e should get a chance to earn his place."

Sig nodded, then turned to Seem. "Seem, what do you think?"

Seem looked at her fellow aldermen. "I have known Veger for quite some time. At one point, I might have called him a friend." She paused, as if considering something. "Spargus has always welcomed those who have been cast out of their own society. We were built by the refuse of Haven City, and since our founding we have been a place of second chances."

Seem looked down at Veger. "Sometimes, a second chance can lead to wondrous things. Other times, it can lead only to disappointment." She looked back up. "I... I request to be excused for a short period to think about my vote in peace."

"Of course, take all the time you need," Sig said.

"Well, not _all_ the time. Some of us have other shit to do," Volta said as Seem left the room.

Sig looked at Volta. "Well, since you're so antsy, why don't you tell us your vote?"

Volta laughed. "Come on, are you serious? It's obvious the rat's been lying through his teeth to save his skin, but didn't have the brains or the balls to see it through. I'm not just voting no, I'm voting _hell no_ and request that we end this circus and toss him out right now."

"Duly noted. Galvani, your thoughts?" Sig asked.

While Volta scowled, the man next to him nodded. "While I hate to admit it, I agree with Volta. Veger admitted his wrongdoing, but that only counts for so much. He has all but admitted that he would side with Haven over us in a heartbeat. I'm voting no."

"Alright. Quaifer?"

"I was almost ready to say yes, but Galvani's right. The rat's made his choice. I say no."

Veger gulped nervously. Why oh why had be chosen to stick to his principles _now_ of all times?

"Petra?"

The woman tapped her fingers on the desk. "I was ready to cast my vote, too, right up until Seem spoke. Her little speech about second chances... touched me." Petra stared into Veger's eyes. "Do you remember me, Count? Do you remember what I did to get sent out here?"

Veger nodded slowly. "Yes... I remember. Seven years ago, I believe it was. I woke one morning and was told an assassin had been apprehended just outside my apartment. That was you, was it not?"

Petra looked almost amused and shook her head. "It was six, and it was outside your office."

"My apologies, it's hard to keep track of everyone who wants me dead."

Petra actually laughed at that. "That's kind of sad, actually. But yeah, you banished me because the Guard said I'd tried to kill you. And they were right, I did try to kill you. I had the bomb in my hand and ready to blow when they caught me. Probably would've taken a couple guards out, too, if I'd gotten outta there five seconds earlier.

"But whatever, that's ancient history. I got dumped out here, and when I thought I was going to die, I was taken in. I had to rebuild my life, and it was tough, but eventually I became more than just a hitwoman, as you can plainly see." Petra leaned forward in her seat. "And ya know what? I still think this place sucks. But these people welcomed me with open arms when I had no one to turn to. I think you're a rotten sonuvabitch, but you're a rotten sonuvabitch who's in the same boat I was in. I'm voting yes."

Veger sighed shakily. He could hardly believe his luck. Once Seem came back and cast her vote, it would be ultimately be up to Sig, and hopefully his supporters had made better arguments than his detractors. And speak of the devil, there she was. Seem had reentered just as Petra had finished her spiel. The monk took her seat again and closed her eyes.

"You come to a decision, Seem?" Sig asked.

"Yes, I have." When she opened her eyes, they had grown wet with tears. "I _want_ to believe that Veger could prove himself loyal to us. Sadly, I know from experience that he is out for no one but himself. My vote is no."

"Seem?" Veger's voice was a barely audible squeak, thick with hurt. How could she? How could she betray him? _The same way you betrayed her_, a voice in the back of his mind said. Looking into her eyes as a single tear slid down her cheek, Veger felt like he wanted to cry, himself.

"Well, that takes care of that. Time for lunch," Volta said as he started to stand.

"Hold it," Sig said. "_I_ haven't cast _my_ vote yet, and if you'll recall, my vote counts for more than all of yours put together."

Volta sighed in exasperation. "You're just doing this to spite me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Volta, I _live_ for causing you even the slightest inconvenience. Sit your ass down and shut the fuck up."

Grumbling, Volta complied. Kleiver had been glaring at him, but shifted his glare to Sig. Like everyone else, he seemed to wish they could drop the decorum and just get this shit done already. Kleiver looked at Veger, and Veger looked at him. _I did everything I could,_ Kleiver's gaze seemed to say. _Thank you for trying_, Veger's face seemed to reply.

"Okay. Listen. You're all right. This guy's screwed a lot of people over, sometimes for legitimate reasons, sometimes not. This guy's unquestionably a self-righteous, self-centered, power-hungry prick. And it's no secret this guy doesn't exactly hold us in high regard."

Veger fumed. "There's no need to add insult to injury."

"Shut your face, I'm not done," Sig said. "Point is, this guy's fucked up big time. He's kidnapped, killed, betrayed, destroyed, and probably a whole mess of other shit I don't know about. _But._" Sig looked Veger in the eyes to give his verdict, just as Veger had done to give his final answer. "He stood here, in front of all of us, and refused to renounce Haven City, even when he knew what it would mean. If that ain't loyalty, don't know what is. I say there just might be something in this little rat that's worth keepin' around, and we should keep him around so we can see it for ourselves.

"I say yes. Veger can stay in Spargus."

Overcome with shock, Veger nearly fainted, but merely ended up sitting on the floor, feeling extremely dizzy while the room exploded around him, Kleiver jeering Volta, Volta objecting loudly, Galvani voicing his shock, Quaifer voicing his shock and his objection, and Petra voicing _her_ shock, but in a good way. Once again, only Seem was quiet. She wiped her eyes and, despite everything, a small smile made its way to her face. She hadn't wanted to see Veger thrown out, and if Sig was willing to give him a chance, perhaps she should be, too.

"Alright, alright, everyone shut up, I'm not giving the rat his Battle Amulet just yet," Sig said, "but that reminds me, we need to think of some way to let him earn his citizenship."

"Why not an Arena battle, like everyone else?" Volta asked.

"You know damn well why not. Know what? Fuck it. We'll discuss it at the next meeting. Get out of my sight, all of you."

Kleiver gave Volta one more triumphant smirk before walking over to his sidekick. "Well, I'd say this calls fer a bit o' celebrating, wouldn't ya say?"

Veger looked up at him, half-catatonic. "I... would prefer to just go home and sleep, if you don't mind."

Kleiver picked the ottsel up and placed him on his shoulder. "Sure, mate."

As the Wastelander walked out of the room, Veger took one last look at Seem. She caught his eye for a moment before looking away. He couldn't tell if she was happy, disappointed, or what. Nor could he tell if he was angry with her or understood her position. At the moment, he wasn't sure of anything, except that he had a lot to think about.


	7. I Will Not Bow

The days turned to weeks, and Veger's life had settled into something of a routine. Without anything else to do, he tended to accompany Kleiver throughout the day, which usually meant staying in the garage working on the buggies. Veger had never had any sort of technical talent, and Kleiver's attempts to teach him a thing or two about vehicles never went anywhere, and he ended up being less of an apprentice and more than an assistant, fetching tools or acting as an extra pair of hands when needed.

During the night, when Kleiver was out drinking with his friends, Veger preferred to stay at home. He had found some old vehicle maintenance manuals in Kleiver's workshop on the second floor, and while Veger would have preferred something more suited to his tastes, he was hard up for reading materials and needed _something_ to pass the time. Besides, maybe he could eventually understand what Kleiver was saying whenever he gushed about his "babies".

Not infrequently did Veger find himself wishing he could spend his time at the temple or the monastery, studying Precursor technology or reading ancient texts. As the time passed, the subject of the Precursors' great deception bothered him less and less, and although it would probably remain a bit of a sore spot for the rest of his life, he couldn't let go of his lifelong obsession so easily. He craved the challenge of deciphering a dead language, he missed the thrill of discovering a mysterious artifact's purpose. But he hadn't spoken to Seem since she voted to cast him out, and he knew their next meeting would be an awkward one, to say the least, and he was not looking forward to it.

Of course, his precious routine was often disturbed, as life in Spargus wasn't as simple as life in Haven. Sandstorms would often send him and Kleiver out to collect artifacts, a task Veger dreaded. He hated the wind whipping around him, the sand blinding him and building up in his fur. He hated those idiot Marauders as they shot at them instead of heading for cover. And he hated, _hated,_ _**hated**_ Kleiver's driving. Too fast, too erratic, too dangerous.

And then there was the occasional skirmish with the Marauders. Veger never got a straight answer when he asked what the reason for their conflict was, whether they were people who had been kicked out of Spargus, a group of nomads that had developed a rivalry with Spargus, or what. All he knew was that, on occasion, the Marauders would assault the city, and he and Kleiver would hop in the car and ride out to fight them off. Sometimes, they would go to the Marauders' fortress and pay them back.

But, all in all, Veger had managed to carve out a nice little niche for himself in Spargus. So of course, once life had become bearable again, Kleiver had to drag him out for drinks one night.

"_Why_ are you bringing me to that godawful bar?" Veger moaned. "You _know_ how I hate it!"

"Aw, come on, I ain't seen you kick back an' relax _once_ since ya came out here," Kleiver said.

"If you'll recall, I have been preoccupied with trying not to _die_," Veger replied. "Furthermore, I find reading a good book to be infinitely more relaxing than imbibing cheap alcohol."

"You need to loosen up, ratface."

"I thought you were going to stop calling me that!"

Inside, Veger kept a wary eye out for Kleiver's friends, especially the Faima couple. He didn't see them anywhere, but he thought he glimpsed two men look his way, nod to each other, and get up from their table. When he turned to get a better look, they had disappeared.

"Kleiver, I think we should go," Veger said to his companion.

"Yer jus' paranoid," Kleiver said as he took a seat at the bar. He ordered "Two Sevens" before looking back at his sidekick. "You've been 'ere fer, what, a month now? If someone was gonna kill ya, they woulda done it already."

"I'm not so sure about that," Veger replied, casting a suspicious look around the bar. No one seemed to be paying him any mind. He climbed down from Kleiver's shoulder and onto the counter. "I have been by your side every time I have ventured out, after all."

"'Xactly, and yer by me side now, so relax." The bartender placed the two shots on the counter before moving on to his next customer. Kleiver pushed one of the glasses toward Veger. "G'wan, drink up."

Veger shied away from the glass. "What is it?"

"A lil' drink called the Seven Deadly Sins," Kleiver grinned as he downed his own drink. "It's made wit' grenadine, rum, two diff'rent kinds o' whiskey, vodka and gin."

"That's only six ingredients," Veger said as he stared at the concoction.

"That's because the seventh deadly sin is _drinking it,_ little one."

Veger immediately stiffened and every hair on his body stood up. Looking behind him, he saw Anna Faima smiling deceptively sweetly at him. And if he'd been able to look away from her, he would have noticed that everyone else in the bar was now staring at them. Some people were smirking at each other knowingly, others were snickering expectantly.

"Oh, 'ey Anna, how's things?" Kleiver greeted his friend, apparently unaware of their audience

"Oh, I'm fabulous, actually," Anna said. In one swift movement, she grabbed the back of Veger's shirt and hoisted him up. "Just fabulous."

"Let me go!" Veger cried, trying to pry her fingers open.

"Oi, Anna, what're you doing?" Kleiver asked, getting to his feet.

Anna chuckled and sauntered into the middle of the floor. The patrons parted way to let her through. Veger continued struggling, squirming and trying in vain to kick at the mob boss. Kleiver started to follow, but his way was soon blocked by two men, the same two men Veger had spotted earlier, though Kleiver didn't know this.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?" Anna asked, though of course she already did.

"Unhand me at once!" Veger grunted as he tried to free himself.

"Quiet, rat, I'm speaking," Anna said, pulling her gun out and poking him in the eye with it. Veger winced and grit his teeth, but did not dare protest. Anna smirked and addressed the crowd. "My fellow citizens, a strange bit of good fortune has been granted us. For you see, one of our most hated enemies has returned to the Wasteland, only this time, he is helpless."

She held Veger up. "Behold, the _former_ Count and Grand Councilman of Haven: Veger!"

A chorus of jeers, boos and hisses arose from the crowd. Veger resumed his desperate squirming as fear began to take hold. This couldn't be happening. He'd been allowed to stay in Spargus, damn it. He'd been through too much for him to be publicly humiliated and lynched like this.

"As you can see, his exterior finally matches his interior," Anna continued. "And now, this little rat will get his just due."

"'E's got the right to stay 'ere," Kleiver objected. "If ya don' like it, take it up wit' Sig."

"Yes, he has the right," Anna said. "But, tell me, has he earned that right? I don't see a Battle Amulet anywhere on his person, and I think we would have heard if a little rat had achieved victory in the Arena.

"If he is to stay here, he must prove himself, just as we have. And if he cannot go to the Arena..." she smiled cruelly. "We shall bring the Arena to him."

Veger was about to ask what she was blathering about when he heard a creak. He looked in its direction and the realization struck him like a punch to the chest. They were opening the pen that was used for kanga-rat fighting. And off to the side, someone was holding a cage with her prized kanga-rat in it.

"No... No! Kleiver!" Veger called desperately. The crowd around him began to scream for blood. He twisted around to get a glimpse of his companion. "Kleiver, help me!"

Kleiver looked at the ottsel before sighing and sitting back down. He said nothing.

"Kleiver...?" Veger whispered. Anna tossed him into the dirty, blood-stained pen. He grunted as he hit the ground. He scrambled to his feet and turned to make a break for it, but found that that was going to be impossible.

Before him stood a champion kanga-rat fighter. It was bigger than the average, and from the looks of it, twice as mean. Its tail was gone, and all four paws had large, sharp blades implanted where the claws should have been. The kanga-rat hissed, and Veger saw that its already sharp teeth had been filed into fine points.

"N-Nice kanga-rat..." Veger murmured.

Someone off to the side hit a bell, and with a shriek the kanga-rat lunged. Veger tried to dodge, but while his new form was fast, it wasn't fast enough. One of the kanga-rat's claws caught him in the side, tearing through his shirt and his flesh.

"Aagh!" Veger cried out in pain and hit the ground, clutching his wound. He rolled onto his back, just in time for the kanga-rat to jump onto his stomach. It tried to tear at his face, but Veger grabbed its forepaws, barely keeping them from reaching him. Its hind paws, however, were still digging into his stomach painfully.

Veger groaned. He could barely move, and every second that passed was spent in piercing agony. It took all of his strength to push the kanga-rat off of him, and he had only gotten to his knees when the kanga-rat was after him again. He raised his arm to protect himself and the kanga-rat sank its teeth into the flesh.

The kanga-rat pulled and Veger nearly fell over. He struggled to his feet and kicked the kanga-rat as hard as he could in the stomach. The kanga-rat released his arm and made wheezing noise. Veger turned and ran to the side of the cage. He jumped and barely managed to get over the wooden base and grab onto the chain-link.

There was a searing pain in his tail as the kanga-rat bit him. Veger's grip on the sides of the cage slipped and he was dragged down to the ground. The kanga-rat let go and hissed. It backed up a bit and circled its prey. Veger lay there, panting, gasping in pain, his eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them, the kanga-rat snarled and lunged again.

Veger covered his head with his arms and felt the claws rip into his back. Desperately, without thinking, he swung his arm and caught the kanga-rat's leg, knocking it off balance. Adrenaline coursing through his system, he jumped back onto the side of the cage and managed to climb out of the kanga-rat's reach.

The kanga-rat jumped up and down, trying to reach its opponent and shrieking in frustration. The spectators jeered and those closest to the cage tried to shake Veger loose. The ottsel groaned, but didn't let go. His head was spinning, his heart was pounding, and he feared that he would die here.

There was a round of laughter as one of the spectators grabbed a knife from the table and poked Veger through the chain-link. Pain erupted from his belly and Veger thought he would black out. Suddenly, he had an idea. Reaching down, he sank his own claws into the man's hand and managed to pull the knife free.

Veger had only one chance to make it out alive, and that was to fight like a Wastelander. He pulled his hind legs up and, with a grunt of effort, kicked off the cage wall. He landed on all fours behind the kanga-rat and, before the creature knew what was happening, Veger had grabbed it from behind.

The two animals wrestled briefly. The kanga-rat tried to dislodge his attacker, and Veger tried to hold on long enough to get a good shot. Eventually, the ottsel decided he'd had enough, and drove the knife into the kanga-rat's neck. With all of his strength, the ottsel ripped the front of the kanga-rat's throat open.

The crowd gasped as the kanga-rat fell to the ground, dead. Veger stood, triumphant, though he didn't look it. Hunched over, covered in his own blood, and breathing heavily, the ottsel looked down at the creature before him, then at his own bloody hands.

Suddenly, the silence gave way to applause, and behind him the door to the cage opened. In a daze, Veger stumbled out. As he made his way to the exit, he looked at the knife in his hand again before throwing it to the side and letting it skitter across the floor. Soon, he was outside in the cool night air, and the roar of the crowd was behind him.

Leaning on the buildings for support, the ottsel made his way home. He left a trail of blood behind him as he walked to the kitchen. With a moan, Veger managed to get onto the counter and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out the first aid kit and opened it.

Veger disrobed, throwing his torn and bloodied garments into the sink. He'd worry about them later. There were several small cuts on his stomach and a collection of puncture wounds on his arm and his tail from the kanga-rats's bites. His arms were all slashed up, as was his back. The worst wound, however, was probably the large gash in his side.

Gingerly, Veger began treating his injuries. He couldn't find any antiseptic, but there were plenty of bandages. He had just finished wrapping up his arm when Kleiver came in.

"I knew ya had it in ya!" the Wastelander beamed. "An' they thought I was nuts fer betting on ya. Well, who's laughing now?"

"You... _gambled_ on me?" Veger hissed through his teeth as he pulled his clothes back on.

"What're ya actin' all insulted fer? I bet ya'd win, and ya did!" Kleiver slapped him on the back.

"Augh!" the ottsel cried. "You... fucking... _moron_..."

"Ooh, sorry," Kleiver said, looking sorry for all of two seconds before grinning again. "But that ain't even the best part! Look!"

Kleiver pulled a circular hunk of metal from his pocket. Veger looked at it, unimpressed, but before he could ask what it was, Kleiver explained. "Sig was watchin' tonight, can ya b'lieve it? After ya left, 'e came upta me an' said that whatcha did was prob'ly as close to winnin' an Arena fight as ya'd ever get, so ya might as well get yer first piece o' War Amulet! Only two more an' you'll be a Wastelander!" Kleiver shoved the disk into Veger's hand. "Way to go, ratface!"

Veger stared at the incomplete War Amulet. It was a symbol of his victory. His hand began to shake. It was a symbol of his acceptance. He tightened his grip on the Amulet. It was a symbol of everything he hated. With a surge of rage, he threw the Amulet as hard as he could across the room. It slammed into the wall and tumbled to the ground.

"What the hell?" Kleiver gaped at the dented Amulet, then at Veger. "Why the hell didja do that?"

"Why?" Veger seethed. He looked at his roommate furiously. "_Why_? I'll tell you why! It's because I don't _want_ to be a Wastelander! I don't _want_ to be a part of this... this hellhole! I _hate_ this city! I hate everything it stands for, and I _especially_ hate _you_!"

"_**What**_?" Kleiver roared. "Ya got the gall t'stand there and insult me and me 'ome like that? After everythin' I've done fer ya? I took ya in! Ya'd be dead in the gutter if I it weren't fer me!"

"If it weren't for you I wouldn't be stranded here in the first place!" Veger yelled back. "You 'took me in' on a whim, because _you_ decided you wanted a sidekick, and I happened to be standing there! Not out of any sense of compassion or decency! Not because I was lost or hurt, but because you wanted a _pet_! I am not just some goddamn animal! I am a Precursor!"

"Some Precursor you are! Could barely fight off a lousy kanga-rat!"

"I wouldn't have need to fight it off if you had put your money where your mouth was and put a stop to it! I needed your help and you did nothing!"

"An' if ya'd been in the Arena-"

"I don't _care_ about the Arena or your ridiculous Wastelander code! It's barbaric and idiotic, just like everything else out here!"

"If ya hate it so much, then jus' get out!" Kleiver bellowed. "Get the fuck out of me 'ouse, and don' come back!"

"Gladly!" Veger dropped to the floor and stomped out of the house. Kleiver slammed the door shut behind him. Veger stalked off down the street, not sure where he was going and not caring. He couldn't spend another second anywhere near that fat bastard's presence.

That... that _bastard_. How could he have just stood there? How could he have let him be thrown to what would likely have been his death? How could a city full of individuals like this function? It was inconceivable! What was this world coming to, when savagery and barbarism were rewarded over intelligence and tact?

Veger's inner rant was interrupted when a shrill siren broke the night's silence. Around him, people evacuated the streets and sought shelter in the nearest building. Leaper Lizards were untethered and brought inside. Upon noticing that the breeze was growing stronger, Veger realized what was happening.

It was a sandstorm.

Veger turned and ran down the street as the wind picked up around him. He was forced onto all fours to keep from being blown over. He squinted to see through the sand. He couldn't go back to Kleiver's, but he would die if he stayed out in the open. Ahead of him, Veger spotted the gate leading to the garage. That was the answer.

The storm was relentless. Veger's skin began to sting with the onslaught of sand pelting him at such high velocity. The garage door's motion detector activated and opened, and the ottsel made his way over to the nearest buggy. Pinpricks of blood began to appear all over his body, and he climbed into the buggy's seat. From there, he crawled into the foot well.

At last, he was shielded from the wrath of the sandstorm, but not from the chill of the night. Veger curled into a ball and shivered. Despite the howling of the wind and his numerous wounds, the exhausted ottsel eventually fell asleep.


	8. Warrior's Call

The sandstorm raged on throughout the night and into the morning. The sun was well above the horizon by the time the sand had settled enough to let its rays through. Once it was safe to go outside, life in Spargus resumed its normal rhythm. Some Wastelanders headed to the garage, hoping to see if they could find any artifacts that had been unearthed by the storm.

Kleiver checked over all of his babies, making sure they hadn't gotten sand into the gas tanks or been otherwise damaged by the storm. He tried to keep his mind on his task, but he couldn't help but wonder what had become of his sidekick. The ottsel had never returned, and he assumed that the rat had perished in the storm.

"Ain't my fault," Kleiver mumbled to himself as he started to climb into one of his cars. What he did not expect was for his foot to hit something soft when he got in his seat, nor for there to be an ear-splitting yowl.

Startled, Kleiver nearly fell on his face in his hurry to get out of his car. One hand on the butt of his gun, he peered into the foot well of his car. A pair of blue-green eyes stared back at him, and they looked pissed... and familiar.

"Bloody hell," Kleiver whispered. "Y... Yer alive!"

Veger glared at the Wastelander as he climbed onto the seat. "Yes, no thanks to you."

"I thought you were nothin' but a pile o' bones by now!" Kleiver exclaimed, watching Veger get out of the car and head for the city.

"So sorry to disappoint," Veger replied. The ottsel limped slightly as he walked. He had not slept comfortably, and was sore all over. His wounds were not feeling any better, either. In fact, the gash on his side seemed to be bleeding again, thanks to that great lummox.

Gripping his side, Veger walked through the streets. He didn't know where he was going or who would help him, but he didn't care at the moment. He could take care of himself; he'd proven that much last night.

Unfortunately, it seemed Precursors were as susceptible to bleeding to death as humans. Veger hadn't even made it into the main square in the eastern section of the city before collapsing. He tried to get to his feet, but he didn't have the strength. His vision blurred and the sounds of the city around him grew muffled. Refusing to just lie here and die, he tried again to stand. He managed a few more wobbly steps, but he was on the ground again before long.

"...g...!"

Veger groaned and stirred. He had to get up. He had to! He couldn't just lie here, or it would be the end for sure. And while he was having trouble focusing, he was sure he saw a blurry shape running towards him, and he heard running footsteps.

"Veger!" The blurry shape was on top of him, now. Robes accented with Precursor armor. Red eyes in a sea of white. Gentle, slender hands slipped underneath him and lifted him from the dirt.

"S... Seem?" Veger blinked, clearing his vision enough to see that it was indeed his former comrade. "Is... that...?"

"Hush. Save your strength." The monk turned and hurried back toward her Leaper Lizard. She mounted it and took off through the city, cradling the ottsel in her arm. The ride was bumpy, but Seem's grasp on him held him safe and still. Within minutes they were in the western section of the city and she was running up a flight of stairs and into a building.

Veger was too tired to keep his eyes open anymore, and they slid closed. He felt the rags he was wearing be removed, and he was set down on a flat surface. It was made of metal, and cool to the touch. He heard clattering as someone dug through medical supplies. The bandages he'd applied haphazardly were pulled off, and he cried out as his wounds reopened.

"Shhh." Seem stroked his head gently. The ottsel moaned softly in response. He soon felt the bite of antiseptic on his wounds, but kept silent. First his arms, then his tail, and finally the wounds on his stomach and back endured the sting before being wrapped in the soothing embrace of fresh, expertly-applied bandages with a salve of green eco.

All that was left now was the gaping wound on his side. Seem rubbed behind his ear. "Brace yourself, Veger. You need to be sewn up, and we have nothing to dull the pain."

"I can... handle it..." Veger replied wearily.

Moments later, he felt his skin be pierced with the needle. It took all of his self-restraint to keep still and not pull away. He felt the thread slide through his flesh, burning as it was dragged along. He let out a groan and his fingers twitched. It was an agonizing cycle, and one that took the better part of an hour.

Finally, the sutures were finished, and Seem applied a cloth bandage to protect the wound. She lifted Veger into her arms again and placed a cup to his lips. It was mostly water, but it had a few drops of green eco dissolved in it. Soon, he was strong enough to move again. He opened his eyes and looked at the monk who had saved him.

"Seem... Why did you... You wanted me to be cast out..." he murmured.

"No," Seem replied. She let him have another drink. "I wanted, more than anything, to believe that there was good in your heart. But your betrayal cut me deeply. I did not dare hope that you would change your ways for Spargus, and I feared that you would fail us as you failed Haven."

"I'm... I'm sorry, Seem," Veger said.

"I am not so sure." Seem placed the empty cup aside and sat down, still holding Veger as if he was a fragile child. "I am not ready to forgive you yet, but even so, I am glad that Sig saw fit to give you a second chance. I dearly hope that you will not let us down."

Veger sighed deeply. "You may be in for some disappointment..."

Seem frowned. "What do you mean?"

With another sigh, Veger told her all that had happened recently, from fighting for his life against the kanga-rat to his argument with Kleiver. Seem listened in silence, grimacing as he told his harrowing tale. When he was finished, she shook her head slowly.

"Oh, Veger..." she murmured. "You must understand. Our ways may seem barbaric to one such as yourself, who has lived in comfort his entire life. In Haven, society can afford to support the weak and downtrodden. It is not so, here."

The monk looked out the window. "Here, it is a constant struggle for survival. Everyone must contribute something to society, whether it be expertise in a necessary field, or simply the ability to fight off attackers." Seem looked back at Veger. "Do you know where you are?"

"The... hospital?" Veger guessed.

Seem shook her head. "We are in the monastery. Everyone in Spargus has great knowledge in medicine, and most people will treat injuries or illnesses at home. We monks have an infirmary here for those who are truly in dire straits, but _only_ those in dire straits. You are expected to be able to take care of yourself, and under different circumstances you would not have been brought here."

"I... see."

"No, you do not see, and that is the problem." Seem placed the ottsel on the floor. Veger wobbled a little, but was able to stand on his own two feet. "Resources are scarce in the Wasteland. There is nothing to spare for those who cannot contribute. You may have noticed that there are few elderly citizens here. That is _not_ because we simply throw them aside. That is because Wastelanders rarely live long enough to be considered 'elderly,' and those that do are fit enough to continue being useful."

Seem walked over to the counter and began to put away the medical supplies. "Even the children born here are not born citizens. When they come of age, they are sent into the Arena. Most have been raised to be Wastelanders and have little difficulty. However, many do not pass the test, and either perish within the Arena, or are expelled from the city."

"That's... awful," Veger said.

Seem nodded. "It is sad to see such young lives cut short, but it is no different than in the animal kingdom. The weak are left behind because if the entire herd stayed to help, they would be easily overtaken by predators." The monk began to wipe up the blood. "You may think we are no better than animals, throwing the weak aside instead of helping them. But it is what we must do to survive. Maybe one day, Spargus will be in a position to offer support to the weak, but that day will not be within our lifetimes."

Veger's thoughts went to the letter he had read so long ago. Sig had wanted to become allies with Haven. Nothing seemed to have come of it, but Sig was still in power and could always try again. _That day may be sooner than you think,_ he thought.

But until that day came, Seem was right. He had judged Spargus by Haven City standards. Following such standards out here would not have allowed the city to exist for very long. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

"Do you need me to escort you home?" Seem asked.

"What home? Kleiver threw me out, remember?" Veger said. "I have no home, here."

"You could try apologizing. He has put up with you for this long, after all," Seem replied.

"I suppose." Veger stood up straight, for the first time in a long time. "Thank you for the offer, Seem, but I can make it on my own."

The monk smiled. "Very well. Until we meet again, Veger."

"Until then."

* * *

"Kleiver?" Veger cautiously stepped into the apartment. Kleiver was over in the kitchen, preparing a meal. He didn't respond when Veger entered. The ottsel glanced over to where his Battle Amulet had ended up after he threw it. It was gone. He cleared his throat.

"Kleiver?" he said again.

The Wastelander stopped chopping vegetables and looked over his shoulder at the ottsel. Now that Veger got a good look at him, his skin looked raw, like sandpaper had been rubbed on it. Or he'd been out in a sandstorm for an extended period of time, looking for someone.

"... Yeah?" Kleiver finally said.

"I, um... " Veger found himself unable to look his (former?) roommate in the eye. It was only an apology, nothing to feel awkward about. Even if _he_ was the one who should be getting an apology, almost dying three times over in the past two days... No, come on, just say it, two little words: I'm sorry. He'd said them millions of times over his life. Why should it be difficult _now_? Now, when it actually mattered.

"I, um..." he repeated.

Kleiver sighed heavily and set his utensils down. He left his post and lumbered over to the ottsel. "Listen, mate... I shouldn'a thrown ya out. I didn't mean for ya t'get caught inna storm like that."

Veger looked at Kleiver's arms. "Did you... go out looking for me?"

Kleiver nodded briskly. "Yeah... Didn't stay out long, though. But I looked."

"That... counts for something, I suppose..." Veger said. "And, I... I apologize. For what I said. I... I didn't mean it."

"Oh, the hell ya didn't. Don't try any o' yer bullshit wit' me, mate."

"Alright, alright, I meant every word. But that was because I didn't really understand what it took to survive out here," Veger said. "I didn't truly appreciate how difficult living in the Wasteland is, and how that affects the way people think and act. But I've learned a thing or two between now and then, and I _am_ sorry."

Kleiver knelt down and offered him a smile. "Yeah, I guess I can let it go this time. Just don' go tossin' yer Amulet 'round anymore, got it?" Kleiver pulled the metal disk from his pocket and held it out to the ottsel. It was slightly less dented than when he'd left it.

Veger took the Amulet. "Got it." He went to place it in his shirt pocket, only to remember that the only thing he was wearing at the moment were bandages. He sighed. He'd been walking around pantsless too long.

"Well, now that we got that outta the way, ya wan' some lunch?" Kleiver asked. "It ain't spoiled, I promise."

Veger smiled. "That sounds marvelous, actually. Thank you." He looked back at the Amulet.

_For everything_.


	9. Six Gun Quota

Veger shifted anxiously on Kleiver's shoulder. He did _not_ want to be here. He had refused to leave Kleiver's house for the past month as his wounds healed, and he still wasn't at 100%. His smaller injuries were nothing but scars now, but the gash on his side still needed to be bandaged up. At least he had his clothes back. They were stained with blood, but Seem had cleaned them and sewn up the holes, and it was better than walking around naked. Though he still missed pants.

Kleiver had decided that it was time for his sidekick to start assimilating, and the first step, according to him, was getting a weapon. That was why they were standing here, in one of Spargus's many gun shops, waiting for the storekeeper to get to them. It had taken some doing to convince Veger to leave the house, and the ottsel seemed to have come around... until they walked through the door. It wasn't that he had any problem with guns. His problem was with the storekeeper.

"Well, well, well, look who it is." Graham spat into the spittoon behind the counter before grinning at the odd couple. "We thought your rat was long gone."

"Nope, jus' been recuperatin' at home," Kleiver said. "Remember to thank yer wife fer us. Thanks t'her, ratface 'ere's got 'is first War Amulet."

"No shit?" Graham said, looking at Veger. A moment passed before the ottsel sighed and pulled the Amulet out of his pocket. Graham chuckled. "Well, congratulations, rat. Just two more fights and you'll be one of us, right?"

"I sincerely hope not..." Veger muttered.

"Speakin' o' becoming one of us," Kleiver said, "the rat's long overdue fer gettin' his first gun."

"Aw, maybe I have a 'Baby's First Assault Rifle' around here somewhere," Graham snickered.

"Believe it or not, I _have_ used a firearm before," Veger said.

"Oh yeah? Ever hit anything with it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I was quite the marksman with my old .22."

"What, was it your mom's old handgun?" Graham laughed derisively, as did Kleiver. Veger glared at the two of them. Finally, Graham stopped his chuckling and looked at Veger. "See, we don't have anything smaller than a .308 out here. _These_ are the standard." Graham motioned to the rack behind him, which was loaded with long-barreled guns that took a _much_ higher caliber than .308, much like the one Kleiver was carrying.

"Well, apparently I'm not as insecure as the standard Wastelander," Veger replied.

The smirks fell from Graham and Kleiver's faces. Graham narrowed his eyes. "Something you trying to say, rat?"

"Was I too subtle for you?" Veger said. "I'm _saying_ that you're overcompensating for having a small-"

"Awright, enough o' this," Kleiver snapped. "You got somethin' for 'im or not, Graham?"

Graham drummed his fingers on the countertop, still glaring at Veger. "Hmm... Don't think I've got much that'll be small enough for him outside of the kids' training guns. The B-FAR might be a bit much..."

"The... wait, what?" B-FAR: Baby's First Assault Rifle. Veger couldn't believe it. "I thought that was a joke!"

"Oh, it was. Just making sure you were paying attention," Graham said as he disappeared into the back room. "We do have training guns for kids, though. _That_ part wasn't a joke. They fire weakened eco shots. Not enough to kill, but enough to leave a burn." Graham came back out, carrying an armful of guns. "These can be modified to fire real ammo, though. Won't be easy, but it'll be do-able. Why don't you try one out?"

Veger climbed onto the counter and inspected the guns. There were a few shotguns, a few rifles, and even a carbine or two. The ottsel would occasionally find one that he thought would work and would pick it up. He found most of them to be awkward in his hands, as the weight was distributed to make it easy for a human child to fire, not a grown ottsel.

Eventually, Veger found the one gun that he thought he could actually wield. It almost as tall as he was, and the business end had a bi-pyramidal head that opened to allow it to fire. When closed, it formed an extra large bayonet, perfect for stabbing things. Despite being significantly larger than the rest, Veger found that it just felt... right.

"Ya really think ya can handle that one?" Kleiver asked. "Kinda big fer a runt like you."

"Why don't we find out?" Graham said. "We can take him out to the Wasteland and let him fire off a few rounds." He chuckled. "Tell you what, if he can hit a target in the head at 1000 yards, he can have the gun for free. I'll even throw in the conversion."

"Whaddya think abou' that, ratface?" Kleiver asked.

Veger looked over the gun in his hands. He smirked at Graham. "I think you're going to regret that offer."

* * *

Outside the city walls, a row of human-shaped dummies had been set up. Several Wastelanders were out practice shooting, including some who were teaching their children. Kleiver, being too lazy to walk the short distance to the shooting range, had driven out there. Graham measured out 1000 yards and marked it with a line in the sand. Veger walked up to the line.

"You get three chances to make the shot," Graham said as he tossed the gun to Veger. The ottsel staggered as he caught it, earning a few chuckles from those watching.

"I'll only need one," Veger replied as he hoisted the gun and took aim. He had the target's head in his sights and squeezed the trigger, only for the recoil to knock him flat on his back. The shot veered off and clipped the target's shoulder. The curious bystanders all laughed.

"You'll only need one, huh?" Graham smirked.

Veger scowled and got back to his feet. Taking care to brace himself properly, he carefully lined up his next shot, and was about to fire when Graham suddenly shouted "Boo!" Startled, Veger's shot didn't even hit the target, but instead flew out over the ocean. The ottsel growled lowly at Graham.

"One more chance. Better make it count," Graham said.

_Oh, I'll make it count, alright. Wanker,_ Veger thought. And then, _Oh God, I have __**got**__ to get out of here. I've been around Kleiver far too long._

"What're ya waitin' for, ratface? Shoot it already!" Kleiver said.

_Far, __**far**__ too long..._ Veger sighed, hoping that the third time would be the charm. Giving Graham a wary glance every so often, he took careful aim, braced himself for the recoil, and fired. The target rocked back as it was struck by the full force of the shot. Several feet behind it, its head landed in the sand, smoke wafting off what used to be its face.

Veger looked at Graham, self-satisfied smirk firmly in place. "So, when do you think that conversion will be done by?"

Graham was about to come back with a snappy retort about it being beginner's luck when another shot rang out from behind the group. Another target lost its head, but no one paid it any mind. They were all staring in horror at the gang of Marauders heading their way, guns blazing.

"Aw, shit," Kleiver said. "Ev'ryone, back to the city!" He scooped up his sidekick and ran to the buggy. Kleiver hopped into the driver's seat and hit the gas, kicking up sand as he sped towards the Marauders.

Veger held onto Kleiver's shoulder plate for dear life. "What do they want _now_?"

"Hell if I know!" Kleiver hit a button and his buggy launched a volley of grenades. The Marauders swerved to dodge them and kept driving. Kleiver cranked the wheel as hard as he could and the buggy spun 180 degrees. The Marauders ignored him, instead speeding towards the pedestrians ahead. A teenager that was with the group took the children and kept running while the adults fired at the Marauders. The Marauders ignored the gunfire, determined to get their targets.

"They're going after the _children_!" Veger realized.

"Oh no they're not!" Kleiver hit the turbo and the buggy took off like a rocket. The car at the front of the Marauders' pack was gaining on the helpless youths, and was moments away from flattening them when Kleiver's car slammed into its side. The car rolled over several times before coming to rest against the city wall.

Kleiver launched another volley of grenades, which hit the car's underside and caused it to explode. In the distance, the city gate opened and the kids were safe inside. The Marauders split into two groups, one to focus on the adults still out in the open, and one to focus on Kleiver.

Eco shots pelted the car. Kleiver turned sharply to dodge and Veger nearly fell from the car. He managed to grab onto the side of the car, but his gun slipped from his hand and was lost amidst the turbulent sands. Veger climbed into the passenger's seat and ducked beneath the dashboard to avoid more of the Marauders' fire.

There was a jolt and Veger tumbled to the floor of the vehicle. There was another jolt, and another, and Kleiver swore profusely. Veger barely managed to climb up and see what was going on: the Marauders were taking turns ramming their car.

"Ow!" Something hard had hit Veger in the head. As he rubbed the forming bruise, he saw that Kleiver's gun had slipped from its holster. Grabbing hold of it, he climbed back into the passenger's seat. He looked up and found himself only a few feet away from a Marauder. He'd never seen one up close before, and as he stared at the inhuman mask, he wondered if these men were really men at all.

The Marauder backed off and another came in and rammed the car. The buggy shook violently and Veger began to think it might come apart. Kleiver hit the turbo and managed to dislodge the Marauder. If was only a brief reprieve however, as another one was coming in from the same side. On a hunch, Veger looked over his shoulder and saw that they were dangerously close to the edge of the Wasteland. One more solid hit, and they would go over the ridge and into the ocean.

Veger wasn't going to let that happen. With a grunt of effort, he managed to hoist Kleiver's gun onto his shoulder. He activated the Peacemaker mod (thank goodness for color-coded buttons) and charged up a shot. The Marauder was moments away from impact when he fired. The recoil was almost as powerful as the shot. The gun was knocked from Veger's hands and the ottsel was thrown into the dashboard.

The shot hit true, and the now-dead Marauder's car swerved and hit one of the others, sending them both into the ocean. Back in Kleiver's car, Veger was lying on the floor, groaning. His head ached and his side felt like it was splitting, and if he could think about anything other than the blinding pain, he would have been surprised that he hadn't been knocked unconscious by the blow.

"Hol' on to somethin'!" Kleiver instructed. He activated the buggy's souped-up jump jets and the car sailed through the air. Kleiver had done it to make it over a ravine and get out of the Marauders' reach, but his plan backfired. They now had a clear shot at the car's undercarriage, and a Marauder managed a clean hit. The buggy's controls were shot, and the buggy landed half on the ground before tumbling into the sea.

Veger choked on the cold water. Still disoriented from the pain, the ottsel barely managed to maneuver out of the footwell and away from the car. The sting of the salt in his eyes made him want to keep them shut, but he would never survive if he couldn't see which way was up. Veger choked again, and noticed the bubbles were going... down? Veger looked and saw the light of the sun below him... which meant it was really above him, and he was upside down, and he was going to drown if he kept questioning it.

The ottsel swam as fast as he could, lungs begging for air. He finally broke the surface of the water, gasping and coughing. He could barely stay afloat he was coughing so hard, but finally the last of the water in his lungs came up, and he was able to catch his breath. He looked around for his companion.

"Kleiver?" Veger called. No answer. "Oh, son of a bitch... _Kleiver_?"

Behind him, he heard a splash, followed by coughing. Veger turned around and sighed. It was Kleiver. He looked pissed, but otherwise fine.

"Are you alright?" Veger asked.

"Oh, jus' peachy! Me fav'rite car's at the bottom o' the sea an' we got nothin' solid to stand on!" Kleiver snapped.

"Glad to see you're unhurt," Veger replied. He started to swim towards land, wincing slightly. His side was really killing him. Kleiver followed suit, and before long they were clutching the cliffside.

"Are... are _you_ okay?" Kleiver asked. He'd finally noticed that his sidekick seemed to be in pain.

"I'll be fine," Veger said. Gripping the rocks, he tried to climb up. But between his injury, the slipperiness of the cliffside, and the fact that he just didn't have the arm strength, he went nowhere fast. "Damn it. Now what?"

Kleiver reached into his pocket and pulled out his own Battle Amulet. "This is more'n jus' a shiny trinket, y'know." He hit the button in the center, and with a beep and a flash, the message was sent. "This 'ere's a beacon. Yer in trouble, jus' press the button and they'll come runnin'."

"Who?" Veger asked.

"Wastelanders, o' course," Kleiver replied. "We look out for our own out here." He looked out toward the open sea. "Hope they make it before _it_ does."

"'It'?" Veger looked in the direction Kleiver was looking. He couldn't see anything. "What's 'it'?"

"Some sort o' sea monster. Most people just call it the Beast," Kleiver explained. "Too big to go into shallow waters too often, but its tentacles are just right fer draggin' ya under if it gets ahold of ya."

Veger looked down. Even right next to land, the water was too deep to see the bottom. He gulped. "So what do we do? Just wait?"

"Jus' wait," Kleiver confirmed.

And wait they did. For hours they clung to the rocks, listening, hoping, praying for help to come. The sun was low in the sky before they finally heard a car come to a stop.

"The signal came from around here... Alright, chili peppers, where are you?" Kleiver and Veger recognized that voice.

"Sig!" Kleiver yelled. "Sig, get us outta here!"

"We're in the water!" Veger added.

Several feet above them, they saw Sig peer over the land's edge. "Well, shit, you guys. What are you doing down there?"

"Oh, just thought it was the perfect time for a swim, it's really very relaxWHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK?" Veger shouted.

"Alright, alright, keep your fur on," Sig said. "Gimme a minute."

A moment later, he threw down a rope. Veger and Kleiver grabbed onto it and they were pulled up. Soon they were seated in the back of Sig's buggy, soaking wet and extremely tired, but safe. When they got back to the city, they returned home. Kleiver immediately lied down on his bed for a nap, but Veger instead went into the bathroom.

The ottsel stripped his wet clothes off and threw them over the towel rod to dry. Next, he carefully peeled off the cloth bandage that was wrapped around his abdomen. He checked his injury, tracing his fingertips over his stitches and wincing in pain. He looked at his hand. There was blood on it. Not a lot, but enough.

Veger threw the bandage into the sink and pulled a clean, dry one out of the linen closet. After he'd been hurt, he'd made Kleiver teach him a few things about self-treatment, and now he could wrap bandages like a professional. Once he was finished he walked into the bedroom and crawled into his own bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he promised himself he would never leave the house again.


	10. Kill The Light

A week passed before Veger felt comfortable leaving the house again. Well, that was only partially true. He didn't want to leave the house, but he was due to have his stitches removed, so he had to go to the monastery. Graham had made good on his promise, and now that Veger had a weapon with which to defend himself, he didn't fear for his life quite so much. He even walked down to the monastery without Kleiver as an escort. But he still felt uneasy, and clung to his gun for comfort.

Seem greeted him cordially when he arrived. Their relationship had recovered somewhat, though they still did not spend much time together. It was still too awkward, as Seem did not believe that Veger had truly come to regret his actions. And until he came to truly regret his actions, he could not atone for them. And until he could atone for them, Seem could not forgive him. But, out of a mutual desire to reconcile, they remained civil.

As Seem carefully cut and removed the stitches, Veger tried to make conversation by telling her about the Marauders' latest attack.

"Yes, everyone has been talking about it," Seem said. "In fact, a town meeting is going to be held tonight to discuss what to do. Did Kleiver not tell you?"

"No. I think he has finally accepted that I don't really care... uh..." Veger noticed the dirty look Seem was giving him and quickly backpedaled. "What I mean is, how Spargus handles its affairs are different from the way Haven does, and as an outsider, I can't understand it."

"It may not be as different as you think," Seem said. She dabbed at where the stitches had been with a bit of antiseptic. "If you would only open your eyes to the ways in which Spargus and Haven are similar, perhaps you would be able to open your heart to its people."

"If I could find any similarities..." Veger murmured. He winced as Seem added a bit of extra pressure to his wounds as she finished with the antiseptic. "And why are you trying to tell me to look for similarities, anyway? You verbally ripped me a new one for trying to compare Spargus and Haven."

Seem shook her head as she bandaged him up. "You are being difficult. You realize that, do you not?"

"_You're_ avoiding the question."

Seem tightened the bandage, making the ottsel wince again, before she finished. "I am only trying to help you. Your narrow-mindedness has cost you much already. Do not allow it to persist. It will only create difficulties in making your home here."

"But I don't _want_ to make a home here!" Veger snapped.

"Then what _do_ you want?" Seem asked simply.

"I... I want..." Veger sighed. "I want things to be the way they were. I want to return to Haven. I want to be human again. I want to continue my studies." Veger looked down at himself sadly. "I want to forget the truth about the Precursors..."

"Things can never be as they were," Seem said.

"Don't you think I know that?" Veger snarled. "Don't you know that I spend almost all my time trying to think of how to reclaim bits and pieces of my old life, only to fail time and again to come up with a solution?"

"And that is your problem. You refuse to let go of the past. You refuse to focus on the present. So long as you pretend that your current situation is but a roadblock in your plans for the future, you will never be able to move forward. You are still in denial. You are still angry and depressed. You are still lost in 'what ifs' and consumed with trying to change your reality. You must accept what has happened."

"But I can't! I can't accept it! To accept it is to... is to accept defeat!"

"You mean, to accept that you were _wrong_." Seem peered into Veger's eyes. "I will ask you again. What do you want? Forget your past, forget your plans. Think about the here and now, and tell me what you want."

"I... I don't know," Veger admitted.

"Then I suggest you stop thinking about how to reclaim your old life and start thinking about how to build a new one," Seem said. "Now, I have much to do, so if you will excuse me..."

As Veger walked home, he thought about what Seem said. _"Open your heart... Things can never be as they were... Let go of the past... Accept that you were __**wrong**__... you were __**wrong**__... __**wrong**__..."_

Veger scowled. _I was __**not**__ wrong to try to save the world. I was not wrong to dedicate my life to the path of light. I was not wrong to throw Jak out of Haven. I. Was. Not. __**Wrong**__. And I will find a way to prove it._

* * *

That night, Veger was amongst the citizens of Spargus as they packed the House in order to weigh in on the Marauder issue. He sat in the front row amongst the other friends and family of the aldermen. The minutes ticked by as more and more people came in. Finally, Sig entered and took his spot at the head of the room. He didn't even try to ask for quiet, instead pulling out his gun and firing once into the air.

Everyone in the room immediately hushed. Sig re-holstered his gun and cleared his throat. "Alright, we all know why we're here, right? Need to figure out what to do about the Marauders."

"What we _need_ to do," Volta said, "is show them exactly what we're made of. An all-out assault on their fortress. One they'll never recover from."

The citizens began to talk amongst themselves. Most of them seemed to agree that taking the offensive was the best solution. A few shouted out suggestions for how to go about crippling the Marauders. As Veger watched this, the wheels in his mind began turning.

"Make 'em pay fer what they've done to Spargus," Kleiver agreed. "I say we wipe 'em off the map."

The crowd was rowdier now. Many of them cheered at the thought of utterly destroying their enemies, and now at least half the room had joined in with giving "helpful" suggestions for action. Burn down the fortress. Poison their water. Unleash the full force of Spargus's military might.

"Absolutely not!" Seem objected. "They are not Metal Heads, they are human. We cannot, in good conscience, destroy their society. We must-"

"You're a coward and a fool, Seem!"

That silenced the crowd almost as effectively as a gunshot. Seem commanded great respect for her wisdom and for her position as the leader of the monks. If there was one alderman (or rather, alderwoman) who was never flat-out insulted like that, especially in a public forum, it was her. All eyes went to the one responsible, who was now standing on his seat to be seen over the crowd.

Veger hadn't expected to command such attention so easily, but he didn't let it bother him. He had years of experience as a politician. If there was one thing he could handle, it was public speaking, and he had special mastery in the field of public speaking when emotions were highly charged. It was easier to manipulate people that way.

"Do you really think that diplomacy is the answer here?" Veger continued his speech. "The Marauders have done nothing to show that they deserve such consideration. Last week's unprovoked attack was just the latest in a string of aggression. They tried to strike down unarmed children. Can you really hope to reason with such a society?"

"Remember the last diplomat we sent?" a monk in the back of the room called out. "They _ate_ him!"

Seem looked shocked that one of her own monks would speak out against her like that. Sig also seemed to have no idea how to respond. The rest of the aldermen, though, seemed to be in agreement with Veger. The crowd began to grow restless again. Before they could get too loud, however, Veger jumped down and began to walk back and forth at the front of the room as he spoke.

"Since Damas's passing, the Marauders have decided that Spargus is weak." Sig bristled at the unspoken implication that he was an unfit leader. "They have tried to destroy it. And we have stood by and let them get away with it!" The crowd was getting angry now. Excellent. "Spargus is a city of warriors. And it is time for the Marauders to be reminded of that."

Veger stopped his pacing in the center of the room and looked out at those assembled. "They have effectively declared war on Spargus, and it is time they learned what that means for them. Complete surrender... or complete annihilation."

A great cheer rose up from the crowd, and from many of the aldermen. There was no convincing them otherwise now. Spargus would go to war with the Marauders. Veger smirked. He was in his element. It felt good to be doing what he did best. Playing unruly crowds like violins. It was like he was home again.

Sig and Seem exchanged looks. Seem wanted Sig to use his power as the king to put a stop to it before it got out of hand. But Sig, as much as he hated to admit it, felt that Veger had made some legitimate points. Once the room had settled a bit, Sig stood up to speak.

"Well, I guess we're in agreement. Starting tomorrow, we will begin preparations for war. They'll never know what hit 'em."

The crowd cheered again. Seem slumped in defeat. She managed to catch Veger's eye as he retook his seat. He smirked at her and she clenched her fists. That rat was going to get a piece of her mind. After the meeting, she followed him out of the building and onto the street.

"Veger!"

The ottsel looked at her, a smile as fake as his loyalty to Spargus plastered on his face. "Oh, good evening, Seem. Productive meeting, wouldn't you say?"

Seem was so angry, she nearly went back on her vows of nonviolence and punted the smug little rat across the street. Instead, she glared at him ferociously. "Are you proud of yourself? Of your ability to incite violence and hatred?"

Veger shrugged. "It has never failed me before."

Seem inhaled sharply. "Have you no shame? You have convinced a city to commit genocide and condemned many of its people to die in battle!"

"For a city of warriors, there is no greater glory," Veger replied. "As for the genocide thing, it's either them or us, Seem. I have not lived here long and even I can see that. Even your monks can see that. Why can't you?"

"More killing is not the answer," Seem said.

"But that is the way of the animal kingdom, is it not?"

Seem's lip began to quiver. How had he become like this? How had he turned into such a cruel, manipulative man? And how had she not seen him for what he was sooner? "You were partially right. I was a fool. A fool to believe that you were anything more than a contemptible, evil monster."

"I am only following _your_ advice," Veger said. "You said I should try to build a new life here, and that is precisely what I'm doing. However, I'm not one to stand by and follow orders. I'm much better suited for giving them out."

"Sig should have thrown you out of the city when he had the chance!" Seem shouted. She turned on her heel and marched back into the House. Maybe she could still convince her countrymen to search for a peaceful solution.

Veger watched her go and shook his head. Well, he didn't need her as an ally anymore, anyway. If things kept going the way they were, he would have the rest of the city behind him. And the majority of the city supporting him was better than a single measly monk. Even if that monk was an alderwoman... and had saved his life...

_She betrayed me,_ Veger reminded himself. _If she'd had her way, I would be dead by now, food for the desert beasts._ The ottsel headed home. If he was to help lead Spargus to victory, he would need a good night's sleep.

* * *

The next several days were some of the busiest in Spargus's history. It was no longer a city; it was an army base, and its people were soldiers. All normal business stopped and focus as put on preparing to fight. Armor was made and guns were repaired. Kleiver spent all his time in the garage getting his buggies into tip-top shape. He was so busy, he could not go to the meetings to plan strategy with the aldermen, and sent Veger in his stead.

Veger, of course, had volunteered for the job as soon as he planted the suggestion in Kleiver's head ("It's too bad we can't help strategize. I've had a bit of experience with taking command in wartime..."). Sig, however, knew a thing or two about strategy and they often butted heads over the proper course to take. Volta's only contributions were demands that they forget about strategy and just blow the place to kingdom come. Petra, Quaifer and Galvani were not strategists and would often end up just voting on whether to follow Sig or Veger in certain scenarios. Seem was absent from the meetings entirely.

Finally, the day arrived when it was decided that it was time to strike. Wastelanders piled into the transports that would take them to the Marauder fortress. Sig and the other aldermen chose one of Kleiver's buggies to ride into battle. Outside the city gate, the Wastelanders said goodbye to the loved ones they were leaving behind, those too young or infirm to join the battle.

Kleiver adjusted his armor for the umpteenth time that day. He looked at his sidekick. "Ya ready, ratface?"

"Wh... I'm going with you?" Veger asked.

"Of course. No Wastelander would be caught dead hanging back when there's a battle to win." Sig smirked at the ottsel. "That would be _cowardly_."

Veger groaned quietly, but without further complaint, climbed into the seat next to Kleiver. From his place at the front of the formation, Sig stood on the seat of his car.

"Alright, chili peppers! Let's show 'em that no one messes with Spargus!"

The crowd cheered and the vehicles screamed across the desert. Veger looked back at those who were staying behind, the children who desperately wanted to join their parents and the monks who were entrusted with their care.

Amongst them was Seem. As she watched them go, she prayed for their safe return. Everyone's safe return.


	11. Soldiers Of The Wasteland

The Wastelanders' fearsome army rode through the desert, engines roaring. It was as if a great dragon had been awakened, and indeed that may have been the Marauders' first thoughts when they felt the earth tremble from the dozen or so vehicles charging their way, spewing exhaust into the air.

The Marauders took immediate defensive action. They deployed their own fleet of armored vehicles, each manned by two warriors. The Wastelanders were only a few dunes away when the Marauders ambushed them. The Wastelanders had more powerful vehicles, but the Marauders had more vehicles period.

The transports carrying foot soldiers screeched to a stop. The doors opened and the foot soldiers spilled out, their shouts and their gunfire filling the air. Marauders swarmed the Wastelander army, aiming to run down as many pedestrians as possible. Some Marauders, either out of some sense of honor or because their vehicles had been disabled, engaged the Wastelanders in hand-to-hand combat.

Sword clashed against staff, mace clashed against axe, and gun clashed against gun. Left and right, warriors on both sides fell. Some returned to their feet to fight again, some did not. On the same battlefield, the Wastelanders' mighty machines faced off against the Marauders', outnumbered a dozen to one.

Kleiver gunned the engine and took off, followed closely by a group of Marauders. He led them through a harrowing chase through the most dangerous terrain in the Wasteland. Ahead, there were several rock formations sticking out of the ground and bunched together. There was enough space between them for a car to pass through, but only if it wasn't being driven at breakneck speeds. Or, alternatively, if there was an expert racer behind the wheel.

Back and forth, back and forth, Kleiver continued cranking the wheel sharply. The vehicle came dangerously close to fishtailing on several occasions, and he missed the rocks by only a hair's breadth. Behind him, most of his pursuers had thought to drive around the hazardous field of rocks, but a few poor souls attempted to follow and ended up wrapping their cars around the rocks.

They were almost in the clear when the rear end of Kleiver's car clipped the last rock and ended up spinning out. Veger's grip on Kleiver's shoulder plate failed and he was thrown from the car. It came to a stop at the top of a hill, but the ottsel rolled all the way down to the bottom.

Veger heard Kleiver shout something to him, but it was lost as a mob of Marauder vehicles barreled down towards him. The ottsel scrambled to his feet and ran for the only cover nearby, a small bundle of trees. A Marauder rammed one of the trees, causing it to topple onto Veger's tail. He was stuck.

The Marauders parked their cars in a half-circle in front of him. One got out of his car at the goading of his comrades, pulling out his broadsword. He approached, sharpening the blade on his bracer. If he hadn't been wearing that mask, Veger would have seen that he was grinning at the thought of skinning the little rat alive.

A few more tugs confirmed that Veger was indeed unable to flee. The ottsel's tail might have been pinned and his movement severely impeded, but he was still able to get to his feet, and that was enough to allow him to shoot his would-be killer in the face.

The Marauder stumbled back, gripping his face and yelling in pain. The shot hadn't killed him, but his mask had been shattered and his face burned and cut. He was about to pull his hand away when he was run over by Kleiver. The Wastelander reached out of his car and grabbed his sidekick's arm. With a yank, he pulled Veger free.

Gunfire erupted from the Marauders and Kleiver hightailed it out of there. Veger, ignoring his sore tail, climbed up onto the back of the car. Crouched down, he had with him a small supply of grenades that had been placed in every car before they'd left. It was enough to take out maybe one or two cars right away, but then what?

Veger ducked, narrowly dodging a shot of eco. He returned fire with his gun, but couldn't be sure he hit anything. He fired off several more rounds and managed to puncture the tire on a Marauder's vehicle. That vehicle swerved erratically before the Marauder managed to regain control of his car. Soon, the chase entered one of the many mountain caves.

They passed by lava flows and stalagmites, and the land had formed several natural bridges over the molten rock. Struck by inspiration, Veger grabbed one of the grenades and threw it to the side. It tumbled across the ground and slipped off the edge of the land bridge. The intense heat caused it to explode in mid-air, and it happened to take out a stalagmite that had been acting as a support.

Behind them, the bridge began to crumble. Most of the Marauders made it across, but some ended up falling to a fiery death. They left the lava behind and they were soon plunged into darkness. Taking advantage of the fact that they would now be too busy watching where they were driving to dodge grenades, Veger began tossing them at their pursuers. He was just as blind as the Marauders, and few of the grenades hit their mark, but the ones that did served their purpose.

Once they were back out in the open, Veger could see that the force that had been chasing them was now down by half since the chase started. Ahead of them was a narrow but deep valley with a partially destroyed bridge. Kleiver drove straight at it and, with expert timing, activated his turbo and his jump jets at precisely the right moment, allowing his car to sail over the gap with ease.

The Marauders weren't as lucky, and once again their numbers were cut in half. They were through playing games, it seemed, and the Marauders unleashed all the firepower their vehicles had.

Veger climbed back into the passenger's seat as the car was pelted with eco shots. They ripped through the car's tires, but Kleiver managed to maintain control. The turbo boosters were destroyed, though, and the fuel line was damaged, leaking gas onto the sand.

This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as the sparks from the gunfire lit the gas as the Marauders drove over it. The last of the pursuers were blown sky high just as Kleiver turned another corner and rejoined the battle.

Or, they would have, if the battle hadn't been winding down. The Marauders' numbers had dwindled substantially, and they continued to drop as they retreated. As the last vehicle disappeared over the dune, the Wastelanders stopped, grateful for the much needed break. The break didn't last long, however, as an argument broke out between Sig and Volta.

"We got 'em on the run! We oughtta follow 'em back to their little hidey-hole and finish 'em off!" Volta shouted.

"You wanna go die in a blaze of stupidity, be my guest," Sig snapped back. "We're low on ammo and fuel, we're all tired, hot, and hungry, and if we try to take them on when they got the home field advantage, we wouldn't stand a chance! This battle is over. We should go back to Spargus and get ready for the next one."

"There won't _be_ a next one if we take this chance to destroy them! Veger, you're with me, right?"

Veger was slightly surprised that Volta was deferring to him. His work with them during battle preparations must have earned him greater respect than he'd realized. The ottsel thought for a moment before coming to his decision. "Actually, I agree with Sig. We should return to Spargus and regroup. Both sides have incurred many casualties today, and we should leave it at a draw rather than risk turning it into a loss."

"Plus..." Galvani said, looking at the bodies littering the ground. "We need to bring our comrades home."

And so began the grim task of gathering the war dead. The Wastelanders were laid down, side by side, on the bottoms of some of the transports. The Marauders were left where they had fallen.

The night passed slowly, as fallen soldiers were returned to their families, to be given proper funerals at the later date. Children wept for lost parents, spouses wept for lost spouses, siblings wept for lost siblings, friends wept for lost friends.

Soldiers kept guard throughout the night, rotating through four two-hour shifts. Nobody slept well that night, and nobody would sleep well for the nights that followed. Each passing day brought with it the chaos of preparing for battle, along with the dread of _waiting_ for battle. No one knew when the Marauders would retaliate.

As it turned out, they would retaliate five days after the first battle. This battle wasn't nearly as catastrophic for either side, as a smaller force had been sent by the Marauders to attack, and Sig, in turn, sent a smaller force to defend Spargus. Volta wanted to utterly crush them, but Sig refused. It would be a shameful victory. Besides, many of their warriors still weren't healed enough to fight again.

This was how much of the war was fought. Smaller clashes periodically over the next month. Neither side wanted to unleash everything they had, as that had only ended in a draw with heavy casualties for both sides, and no one was willing to risk such a battle with their forces weakened as they were. At least, that was the conclusion the Wastelanders had come to for explaining the Marauders' hesitation, as it was their reasoning. However, they were wrong. The Marauders were biding their time, building weapons so powerful they wouldn't need their force to recover fully to take Spargus down.

In the dead of night, on the one-month anniversary of the war's start, the city was quiet. There were still full-time guards keeping watch, and the city felt almost as safe as it had always been.

Within their home close to the gate, Kleiver and Veger were sleeping soundly. Veger was dreaming of his days as one of the most powerful men in Haven City, and Kleiver was dreaming of things unfit for print anywhere but the most disturbing of websites catering to the strangest and most twisted desires of humankind. Regardless, it will still not be printed here.

Their slumber was interrupted by an explosion that shook the city with a thunderous bang. Kleiver jumped out of bed and pulled on his shoes before running out the door. Veger followed suit, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on as he ran, leaving his vest and ascot behind.

Once out on the street, they saw what the explosion had been. A massive flaming projectile had been launched into the city and had narrowly missed their home. Instead, it had landed on the homes across the street, and they could hear the screams of the trapped families as they were crushed under rubble and burned by the spreading fire.

People were rushing to and fro, some fleeing their homes, others running in to try to rescue their neighbors. Kleiver's radio crackled to life and Sig's voice came through.

"Report! What's happening? For fuck's sake, someone answer!"

Kleiver raised the radio to his mouth. "A giant flaming rock just fell from the sky over here, that's what's happening!"

Another voice came through on the radio. It was Petra. "It's the Marauders! They've got massive catapults and they're-" She cut out just as another explosion sounded from the western section of the city.

"Petra! Damn it!" Up in the Palace, Sig grabbed the microphone that led to the city's loudspeakers. "Listen up! Everyone in the western section help the injured! Eastern section, get out there and stop those catapults!"

"You 'eard 'im!" Kleiver pulled a key out of his pocket and tossed it to Veger. "Go get the Slam Dozer started while I get our guns! I'll catch up!"

"Which one is the-"

"THE BIG ONE! MOVE IT!"

Veger turned and ran as fast as he could towards the garage. When he entered, he knew immediately which one Kleiver meant: the one with all the spikes, twin front-mounted auto-turrets, and the extra large turbo booster on the back. Veger stared up at it. The small tires in the front were bigger than he was, to say nothing of the rear wheels. It took some doing, but he managed to get into the seat and get it started just as Kleiver and a few other Wastelanders ran in.

Another projectile fell from the sky and slammed into the gate, blocking the city's access to the garage. The small group of Wastelanders looked at each other. They were Spargus's only defense now, until the rest of the city could find a way around the boulder. No pressure or anything.

"Well, ev'ryone choose a car and get movin'!" Kleiver ordered. He climbed into the Slam Dozer's seat, forcing his sidekick onto his shoulder, and led the group out of the garage.

"Can I go back inside?" Veger squeaked when he saw what they were up against. Like Petra said, they were massive catapults, but massive is a relative term. To Veger, Kleiver was massive. To Kleiver, the Slam Dozer was massive. To the Slam Dozer, the catapults were that scary, demanding gym teacher you had in first grade.

The catapults were actually mangonels, which had a bowl-shaped bucket at the end of a long arm. The base resembled a large truck, and within the cab were the controls for the mangonel. Each catapult had a team of Marauders working to keep them fully functioning, making sure the many moving parts didn't stick or slip and constantly reloading. The catapults had an extremely slow rate of fire, but as the Wastelanders had already seen, they didn't need to be fast to be effective.

There were only three mangonels, but besides the teams working them, the Marauders' army was out in full force. They were there to defend the weapons and to destroy any Wastelanders that attacked or tried to escape. And Spargus had less than a dozen people to defend it.

"Ev'ryone, forget the small fries! Destroy the catapults!" Kleiver ordered.

That was easier said than done, however. The mangonels were heavily armored, and with a small army guarding each one, it was nearly impossible to get close enough for damage it. Soon, the Wastelanders found themselves overwhelmed. Each of their cars drove off in different directions, hoping to split the Marauders' forces. It would be easier to take them out in smaller groups, even if they were still outnumbered.

Soon, the Slam Dozer was the only vehicle still trying to take out the catapults. Kleiver rammed his way through the Marauders' cars and slammed into one of the mangonels. The armor dented slightly, but did not give way. Kleiver threw the car into reverse and backed up before ramming it again. This time, the spike on the front of the car's battering ram pierced the hull.

Unfortunately, they were now stuck. The Marauders on the mangonel abandoned their stations and rushed the car. The auto-turrets began firing, but it wasn't enough to cut them all down. Kleiver stopped trying to free the Slam Dozer and grabbed his gun. He fired shot after shot at the Marauders that were climbing all over the car to get to them.

One Marauder swung his sword at Kleiver, missing the Wastelander by centimeters. Kleiver responded by bringing the butt of his gun down on the Marauder's skull. Another Marauder managed to grab ahold of his gun, and the two men grappled over it.

Veger stood on the back of the seat, his back to Kleiver, and shot at the Marauders behind them. He managed to hit the front of a car directly above the engine. One more shot broke through the armor and caused the vehicle to disappear in a fireball.

Behind the ottsel, Kleiver lost his balance and he and the Marauder tumbled off the vehicle and onto the ground. Kleiver managed to free himself from the Marauder's grip and put a bullet in his opponent's head before he could get to his feet. Now, however, he was surrounded by Marauders. They rushed in like a swarm of Metal Heads, determined to rip him to shreds.

Kleiver swung his gun, the extra weight at the end making it an effective impromptu hammer. It slammed into two Marauders, knocking them to the ground. He ducked, a Marauder's mace swinging over his head, and fired a shot straight up. It tore through the Marauder's chin and the top of his head exploded in a spray of blood.

Another Marauder was on top of him in seconds, and Kleiver tried again to bludgeon his opponent. The Marauder was fast, however, and had managed to slip behind him. The Marauder grabbed his arms and managed to restrain him. Kleiver tried to get loose, but the Marauder's grip was strong. He couldn't even use his gun to defend himself from the Marauders who were getting ready to chop his limbs off.

Suddenly, the approaching Marauders began dropping one by one, each death punctuated by a gunshot. There was one last gunshot and Kleiver felt the Marauder holding him go limp. He threw the Marauder off and looked behind him. Still standing on the Slam Dozer's seat was Veger, who was quickly reloading his gun.

Kleiver climbed back into his seat and managed to work the car free, tearing a sizable hole in the armor and exposing the weak point on any vehicle: the fuel tank. Kleiver backed the car up, taking special care to ram any Marauders he saw. Once he felt he was a safe distance, he stood, grabbed his Peacemaker, and began charging a shot.

The ball of lightning flew across the battlefield and through the hole. Fire burst from beneath the mangonel, and smaller explosions erupted from the base, the arm, the cab, and soon it was nothing but a flaming heap of scrap and it began to rain fire and metal.

"Hah! One down!" Kleiver yelled victoriously.

A flaming boulder sailed through the air and knocked down a portion of Spargus's wall. A second landed somewhere within the city, followed by the unmistakable sound of a building collapsing.

"Two more to go," Veger said tiredly.

Around them, the wreckage of Marauder vehicles was starting to pile high, but some of Kleiver's cars had been utterly destroyed as well. And now, some of the Marauders were heading their way in order to defend the two remaining catapults.

Kleiver drove toward the second mangonel, aiming to destroy it as he had destroyed the first. His attempt to ram it failed, however, as the Marauder controlling it urged it forward. It was a slow and clumsy vehicle, but it was also extremely powerful. So it came as no surprise that when the mangonel reversed into the Slam Dozer, the car was pushed along easily.

The Slam Dozer began to tip, and Kleiver and Veger scrambled onto the mangonel before the car rolled over and crushed them. The Marauders manning the catapult immediately pounced. One of them tried to take Kleiver's gun, only for the Wastelander to throw him off the vehicle and under one of the wheels.

Veger climbed onto the lowered arm of the mangonel in order to get the high ground. The arm was almost too narrow for the Marauders to walk on, though it didn't stop them from trying. Veger backed up the arm, firing at the Marauders as they tried to reach him. Eventually, his back hit the bucket that the projectiles were loaded into.

Once he had knocked all the Marauders off the arm, Veger glanced down at where the bucket met the arm. Instead of being made from one piece, the bucket and arm were separate. The Marauders evidently did not have access to welding material, and large screws had been used to connect the two pieces instead.

The metalwork was solid, but shoddy-looking. There were gaps between the bucket and the arm and, upon seeing this, Veger got an idea. He wedged the end of his gun underneath the bucket. He pulled up on the gun with all of his (admittedly pretty insubstantial) strength, and the bucket moved ever so slightly, but stayed put. Veger pulled his gun out and shot one of the screws at point-blank range, causing it to loosen, again, only slightly, but it was a start.

Kleiver had managed to clear the rest of the Marauders off the catapult, he opened the door to the cab and pulled the driver out of his seat and threw him off the catapult. Kleiver took the seat and inspected the controls. They seemed more complicated than his buggy controls, but he was certain he could figure it out.

"Kleiver!" Veger yelled, pointing at the city. "Look!" Marauders had finally decided to take advantage of the Wastelanders' lessened defense to start heading for the breach in the wall so that they could attack the city from the inside. "We need to stop them!"

Kleiver looked at his sidekick. "But the other catapult!"

"Leave that to me!" Veger called back.

"_WHAT_?"

"I said-"

"I know what ya said!" Kleiver shouted. "Do ya really think y'can destroy it all on yer own?"

"I don't need the destroy it!" Veger said. "I just need to-Never mind, we don't have time! Just trust me, okay?"

"..." Kleiver hesitated. "Okay, I'll trust you. I'm gonna getcha over there first, b'fore I take care o' those Marauders. Stay where ya are."

Carefully, Kleiver turned the mangonel so that its back end was facing the other one. Slowly, he backed up, until Veger was able to make the leap. The second Veger landed on the other catapult, Kleiver sped toward the city as fast as the behemoth he now controlled could go.

Veger dodged the Marauders as they attempted to stop him, climbing onto the arm and hurrying to the bucket. He hoped his hunch was right. He alternated blasting the screws with blasting the Marauders, hoping he would get the chance to finish what he was doing. As soon as the arm was clear of Marauders, he worked his gun into the gap between the bucket and the arm and pulled up.

The bucket started to budge, but it was still held in place by screws on the other side, and now the Marauders were back for more. Veger climbed into the bucket, hoping the controller wouldn't think to hit the "launch" button. There was no room on the end of the arm to stand, so Veger had to shoot out the screws while in the bucket. The bucket was nearly as deep as he was tall, and to get a good angle he had to lean precariously far over the edge.

Behind Veger, the Marauders had nearly reached him. One of them swung his axe and barely missed chopping his tail off. Unfortunately, the sudden sound and whoosh of air startled Veger, causing him to fall out of the bucket. He managed to catch the edge, but now he was in an even more precarious situation.

One of the Marauders climbed into the bucket and raised his axe to lop off Veger's arm. The ottsel hefted his gun and fired. His shot only grazed the Marauder, but it knocked him off balance and he fell from the bucket. Veger, with some difficulty, re-holstered his gun. With his other arm now free, he was able to hoist himself back up.

Veger ducked as the Marauder that was waiting for him took a swing and nearly decapitated him. He grabbed his gun and fired. This shot struck the Marauder directly in the chest, knocking him back into his comrades and causing them all to fall off the arm. Veger climbed back onto the arm and again wedged his gun into the gap.

The bucket started to come off, but only started. Once Veger knew that he couldn't pull up on his gun anymore, he positioned himself underneath it and pushed up on it, using the strength in his legs. The bucket yielded slightly, but stubbornly refused to disconnect, and he was running out of ideas.

Veger got out from the danger zone and fired a shot. The metal groaned and shifted slightly. Veger fired again and again, until he was out of ammo. With a final, desperate shove, the bucket finally let go and tumbled to the ground.

Huffing and puffing, Veger looked at his handiwork. He couldn't keep a grin from his face. He'd never realized he was so strong, even as an ottsel. He wondered if he had grown stronger from living in the Wasteland, or if Precursors were more physically powerful than they let on. Maybe they weren't complete-

"Aaagh!" Veger screamed. He fell onto his knees, then his stomach, barely managing to hold onto the arm. Between his shoulder blades, his shirt had been charred and his back was bleeding from the gunshot wound. Apparently, a Marauder had remembered that he had a firearm, and took advantage of that while Veger was distracted.

The ottsel groaned. Everything was growing dark, and he felt his grasp on consciousness slipping. The Marauder nudged him with his foot and he fell from the arm. His last vision was of the beautiful, starry night sky. He was out before he hit the ground.


	12. Every Lie

Dark. Everything was dark. He hated the dark. He wanted out. But he was so tired... did he have the strength to leave?

It took entirely too much effort, but Veger managed to open his eyes. It was still dark. Was he blind? Dead? No... No, as his other senses started to return to him, he noticed a familiar scent. Not particularly pleasant, but at the moment it was comforting. It was the distinctive stench of Kleiver's home.

Sure enough, the ottsel could hear his roommate's snoring a few feet away. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he found himself staring at the ceiling. There was that crack that had been there since he moved in, the one that looked like a frowny face. Yes, he was definitely in his own bed back in Spargus.

Was it all a dream? Had the battle never happened? Had the war never happened?

Veger tried to sit up, but the moment he moved he felt the searing pain of his wound. "Augh!"

"Huh-whuzzat?" Kleiver woke up and looked around groggily. When he noticed his roommate groaning and gasping in pain, he immediately got up. "Veger!"

The ottsel didn't remember it hurting this much when he'd gotten shot. Then again, he didn't really remember much of anything after getting shot. He watched Kleiver grab something from the top of his dresser before kneeling by his side. With a gentleness Veger didn't think he was capable of, Kleiver helped him sit up and gave him a drink.

It was a solution of water and green eco. Veger recognized the taste immediately. The pain in his back dulled and the tension left his muscles. Kleiver let him lie back down and waited, absently rubbing behind the ottsel's ears.

"K... Kleiver..." Veger murmured. "What... happened?"

"It's a long story, mate," Kleiver replied. "I'll explain ev'rythin' in the mornin'. I'll tell ya this, though." The Wastelander smiled. "We won."

"Well, I figured as much, because otherwise I wouldn't be lying here," Veger said. Though really, it was comforting to actually hear it confirmed.

"Get some rest. Ya've been through a lot," Kleiver said. He stood up and returned to his bed. "G'night."

"Night..." Veger closed his eyes, unsure if he could actually fall back to sleep. He had so many questions. What had happened after he blacked out? Had they won the war, or just the battle? How much time had passed? What did the city look like? Was Seem okay?

These questions did not cease tormenting him even after he fell asleep. Throughout the night, he dreamt of fiery rain, swarms of Marauders, collapsing buildings, and the bodies everyone he knew, everyone he cared about, lying around him.

When Veger woke up the next morning, he felt like he hadn't slept at all. Through the bedroom door, he could see Kleiver sitting at the table in the main room. He started to get up, only for his wound to flare up. He groaned, still half-sitting up. He wanted to move, but he'd been paralyzed by pain.

"What're ya doin'?" Kleiver demanded. He had heard Veger's groans and had come in to see what was wrong. Kleiver gave Veger another drink of eco solution and coaxed the ottsel into lying back down.

"I can't... I can't take this anymore," Veger said. "I need to know what happened. Please..."

Kleiver sat on the floor next to Veger's bed. "Alright, I did say I'd tell ya in the mornin'. Whelp, fer starters, here's what happened after I left ya. I started runnin' down Marauders left an' right with that catapult thing. I guess they finally got the gate clear, cuz soon it was like all o' Spargus was out there fightin' the Marauders.

"I couldn't see whatcha did t'the catapult, but it musta worked cuz the Marauders that were mannin' it came runnin' to try an' fight. Didn't last long, though, and soon they all started retreatin'. As y'can imagine, we were all hootin' and hollerin' and celebratin'. After awhile, I realized I hadn't seen ya, an' I hopped in one o' the only buggies that hadn't been totaled by them damn Marauders and drove over t'the catapult.

"When I saw ya lyin' there in the sand, I thought ya were dead. Ya were jus' so still... I went t'check on ya, an' I saw that you were still breathin'. I called for someone t'come an' help, cuz I didn't know if ya'd 'urt yer spine or anythin' and I didn't wanna make yer injuries worse.

"It took awhile, but we got ya back into the city and set you up in 'ere. Normally, ya'd prob'ly be in the monastery's infirmary, but since it collapsed-"

"_What_?" Veger started to sit back up, only for Kleiver to catch him and force him to lie back down. "The monastery's destroyed? Is... Seem...?

"She's fine, mate. Lil' banged up, but fine."

Veger sighed in relief. If Seem had died, he would never have forgiven himself for how their last meeting had gone. He vowed to find her and apologize to her as soon as he was able to move again.

"The next few days were pretty busy, we-"

"Wait, how long have I been unconscious?" Veger asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Less than a week. Woulda been... five days today, if ya hadn't woken up las' night," Kleiver replied. "Anyway, the next few days, we combed the desert for the Marauders. But we didn't find 'em. Their fortress was deserted and there wasn't 'ide nor 'air of 'em anywhere. Far as we can tell, they jus' up an' left the Wasteland. Don' know where they's gone off to, and I don' really care. All I know is they's gone an' the Wasteland is all ours."

"That's... That's good to hear," Veger said.

"Well, if yer satisfied, ya've got some visitors. Come on." Kleiver got his feet and picked up Veger's bed, with him still in it.

"Wait, wait!" Veger gripped the edge of his bed for dear life. He wasn't sure the bottom would hold, but it did. Kleiver carried the bed into the main room. Veger stared at the two visitors sitting patiently at the table. He couldn't believe it.

The visitors were none other than Sig and Seem. Veger couldn't read Seem's face, but Sig was actually smiling at him. Kleiver placed the bed on the table, and Veger shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't exactly how he liked greeting visitors. Lying in bed, naked except for his fur and the bandages around his upper torso. Embarrassing and a little awkward, if you asked him.

"Good morning, cherry," Sig said. "Kleiver tell you why we're here?"

"Um... no."

"Well, after what happened in that last battle, I thought you 'd earned this." Sig pulled out a curved hunk of metal. "It's your second Battle Amulet."

Veger started to reach out to take it, but stopped. "I'm sorry. I can't accept this." He looked away. "I didn't fight for Spargus or its people, I fought for myself, so that _I_ could survive. I didn't have a choice. I... I don't deserve this."

"Yes you do," Seem said. Veger looked at her, shocked. Seem took the Amulet from Sig. Taking hold of Veger's hand, she placed it in his palm. "You did have a choice. You could have chosen to hide. You could have chosen to flee. You could have chosen to side with the Marauders in the hopes that you would be spared. Instead, you chose to fight. If there is one virtue you possess that cannot be doubted, it is courage."

Seem closed Veger's fingers around the Amulet. "Courage is a universal virtue, but it is valued more highly in Spargus than anywhere else in the world. Whether your motives were selfish or noble is irrelevant. You nearly gave your life in service to Spargus, as you promised to do when you were brought before the aldermen. Your actions turned the tide in the war. You earned this Amulet. Take it, and hold it with pride."

Veger looked at the piece of metal in his hand, then at Seem. He wanted to say something, to thank her for her kindness, to say how sorry he was for how he'd acted, to tell her she was his closest friend, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her. Anything he said, she would consider to just be more empty words, and nothing he could say could convince her otherwise. Probably because he wasn't sure if, in the future, he would be able to prove her wrong.

The awkward silence continued until Sig cleared his throat. "Um, Seem, Kleiver, could you go outside for a minute? I wanna talk one-on-one with Veger, here."

"Of course. I must return to my work, so I will take my leave. Goodbye, Sig. Kleiver." Seem stood up and walked to the door, and Veger noticed she was walking with a slight limp.

"Awright, jus' don' take too long, I gotta lotta work t'do," Kleiver said as he sauntered out after Seem.

Once the door closed, Sig looked at Veger. "Listen, you've come a long way in the four months you've been here, so I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. You remember the last question I asked you? When we were deciding whether or not to you could stay?"

"Oh, I remember, alright," Veger said. "You wanted me to renounce Haven."

Sig chuckled. "Not exactly. Y'see, if you'd answered 'yes' to that question, I would've ended the meeting and tossed you out right then and there."

"... What? Why?" Veger asked. That didn't make any sense. Why would the leader of the Wastelanders _want_ him to remain loyal to Haven over Spargus? Was his friendship with Jak and the others that strong?

"Lemme explain," Sig said. "It's not 'cause I want us to be friends with Haven, at least not completely. I ain't gonna sugarcoat it, cherry, I wanted you _gone_. I fully expected you to say yes, and then I'd have an excuse to toss your ass out. That's because if you said yes, I would have known that you were just a spineless rat whose only concern was himself, and that you'd sell us out to save your skin if the opportunity came.

"And then you went and said 'no.' I couldn't believe it. I still wanted to kick you out, but... I also wanted to see if there was actually a shred of decency in you. You've still got a ways to go, but you're on your way. Don't make me regret giving you this second chance."

"You won't," Veger said. "I guarantee it."

"I hope you're telling the truth this time," Sig replied. He got up. "Well, I've still got shit to do, so I'm outta here. Feel better."

Veger watched him go, then looked again at the Amulet in his hand. He wanted to believe that he was telling the truth this time, but given his track record, even he couldn't be sure whether or not he would stick to his word.

Now that Veger was awake, it was quickly discovered that the wound on his back had done damage to his spine. It was minimal, but it was enough to impede his motor skills a bit. The ottsel was confined to his bed until his spine healed enough to support his weight, which took about two weeks. Then he was confined to the house until he was able to walk without pain, which took another twelve days.

Even then, however, Veger needed something to help him walk steadily, and he used his gun as a walking stick for that very purpose. Little by little, his balance improved, but they didn't know when, or even if, he would fully recover.

Despite the injury, life was able to resume its normal rhythm. In fact, Kleiver decided to mark the occasion of Veger's first steps out of the house by bringing him to the beach for a farewell party for one of his friends. The sun had just set when they arrived at the beach. Kleiver's group was gathered around a small campfire near a rock outcropping.

"Hey, Kleiver!" Shiv called. "Glad you could make it!"

"Well, I couldn' letcha go without sayin' g'bye," Kleiver replied. He sat down between Shiv and Graham and took the beer that was offered to him.

Veger climbed down from Kleiver's shoulder. He'd seen Kleiver drunk before and did not want to be on his shoulder when he tried to walk home. He noticed Shiv holding a bottle out to him and took it hesitantly. He had no plans to drink, but he'd learned to just go with it to avoid an argument. They probably wouldn't notice that he wasn't actually drinking any of it, anyway.

"So, ya gonna tell us why yer leavin', Shiv?" Kleiver asked.

"An old 'employer' of mine needs my help," Shiv said. "The Kras City Grand Championship is starting in a few months and he wants me on his team. There's something big riding on the tournament this year, but he wouldn't tell me over the phone."

"Hmm, that sounds important," Anna said. "Who is this mysterious 'employer' of yours?"

Shiv grinned. "You know Mizo?"

"Not personally, but I'm something of a fan," Anna replied. "So, you're going to be racing for the Mizo team. I pity the poor souls you go up against."

"Well, congratulations, mate," Kleiver said before downing another gulp of beer. "Wish I could tag along. It'd be nice to have some actual competition for once."

"I'll keep that in mind, just in case Mizo needs some extra muscle," Shiv said.

Veger frowned slightly. He didn't like the thought of Kleiver working for such an unscrupulous character, especially since he'd probably be dragged along for the ride. But what was there to worry about? It was just wishful thinking on Kleiver's part. No way he'd actually end up in Kras City, racing for Mizo. Of course not.

The night passed slowly for Veger. He stayed out of any conversations, especially as they grew drunker and more idiotic. He couldn't wait to go home. But before he could go home, he would have a short chat with Anna. The former crime boss walked around her drunken companions and sat behind Veger. The ottsel didn't turn to look at her. If she was going to plunge a knife into his back, he didn't want to see it coming.

"How have you been, Veger?" Anna asked, voice soft and deceptively friendly. "How's your back doing?"

"It's been getting better," Veger murmured in response.

"That's good. You know, for awhile the rumor was that you'd end up an invalid, assuming you survived. And Sig was ready to throw you out."

"I have trouble believing that."

"When was the last time you saw someone in a wheelchair around here? The disabled cannot provide Spargus with what it needs, and even if we could afford to allow them to sponge off of us, they wouldn't be able to survive out here anyway. You should consider yourself lucky."

"Why? Because I can still walk?"

"Well, yes, but also because you have friends in high places. Volta was the one who convinced Sig to give you a War Amulet instead of throwing you out."

"Volta." It wasn't a question. Veger finally looked over his shoulder at Anna. She was smiling, though there was no mirth in it. "Now I know you're full of shit."

"Oh, I'm being quite honest," Anna said. "Your sacrifice was going to be rewarded with betrayal. Your performance in the war, however, managed to win Volta over. There is no one he respects more than someone who is unafraid of battle. That is true for all of Spargus."

"But you still plan on making me pay for casting you out, aren't you?"

"Goodness, no! After the war with the Marauders, I'm convinced that you deserve a second chance. Besides, someone with your ability to manipulate people into doing what you want will come in handy..." Anna placed a hand to her mouth. "Oops."

"What does that mean?" Veger asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing, little one. Forget I said anything." Anna got to her feet and addressed the rest of the group. "Now, Graham and I must be going. We have some... things... to do tomorrow, and a good night's sleep is in order."

"Coming, dear," Graham said as he got to his feet. "Later, guys. Shiv, good luck in Kras."

"Thanks, man. See you later."

Veger watched the couple go and felt the pit in his stomach grow. Something was brewing in the shadows of Spargus, and he wondered if... no, _when_ he would be pulled into it, and whose side he would be on.


	13. Feathery Wings

Veger sat on the roof, staring out across the city. It was hot out, even by Wasteland standards, and the shade from the chimney and the light breeze didn't do much for him. Even so, he wanted a quiet, private spot to think, and he didn't dare try to find such a place away from home.

Home. Ha. This wasn't his home. He lived here, ate here, and slept here, but it wasn't home. Even after so long, he still felt a pang of disappointment every time he woke up in the mornings to see that he wasn't in Haven. He wanted, more than anything, to go back. Haven was his home, and he missed it terribly.

Veger had no real love for Spargus. He didn't hate the city itself or its people as much as he used to, but he still hated living out here. He understood that it wasn't the city's fault the Wasteland was such a horrible place to live. He understood that their customs were harsh out of necessity, but that didn't mean he found them any less reprehensible.

For example, the idea that he would have been banished for being injured while defending Spargus. He had mulled it over for awhile, and now he was unsure of whether or not Sig would have gone through with it. He really didn't know Sig that well, and Sig had even admitted that he wanted an excuse to throw him out. And Volta did seem the type to appreciate a good performance in battle. Maybe he really would have vouched for him.

The more he thought, the more confused he felt. What did he want out of life? Did what he want even matter, if he couldn't do anything about it? Was he just waiting for something to happen? And what was he waiting for? His death? An alliance with Haven? The Precursors' return?

The more he thought, the more hopeless he felt. He wanted to go back to Haven. It didn't matter, because he couldn't return. He was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. He didn't want to survive just so he could die a miserable old rat. He didn't dare hope for an alliance with Haven anymore. And the Precursors returning wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

The more he thought, the more bitter he felt. Haven was where he belonged, so why shouldn't he be allowed back? He was past middle age, but he still had plenty of life in him yet, so why should he just wait to die? Haven could be a powerful ally, so why shouldn't the people of Spargus just accept that and get over their ridiculous grudges? And those damn Precursors were the ones who gave him this body, so why shouldn't he have been taken with them?

Confused. Hopeless. Bitter. That had been the story of his life since he ended up trapped in this hot, sandy hellhole. Veger thought and thought, desperately searching for a new purpose in life. His ambition had kept him going through his entire life, and without it, he just wasn't whole. He was sure that if he could just find something to work towards, some greater goal, maybe he could find a way to be happy again. Maybe.

Veger sighed and wiped his brow. Precursors, it was hot out. Maybe he could work on building an air conditioner. Or... maybe he could work on getting Spargus to agree to ally with Haven, so that Haven's technology would be available for Spargus to use. He seemed to have some pull with the aldermen. Maybe it wasn't such a ridiculous thought after all...

While he pondered the idea, a door opened on the street below. Curious as to who would venture out in this ungodly heat, Veger walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. Below, he saw Anna and her husband leaving his neighbors' house. The couple were both smiling in satisfaction, but his neighbor looked kind of nervous.

"Again, thank you _so much_ for your support in this matter," Anna was saying. "I promise, everything will work out in the end."

"Of course, Mrs. Faima," the man replied, wringing his hands. "I-I only want the best for Spargus, of course.

"Don't forget, it's tonight. Bring your friends," Graham said. "If they're trustworthy."

"Of course, sir, of course. I'll bring everyone I know. They'll be glad to, of course. S-See you then. Goodbye." The man closed the door and the Faimas headed down the street.

Veger considered what he'd just witnessed. He didn't know his neighbor too well, but what he did know was that he wasn't the nervous type. The Faimas must have been very "convincing" to make him so jittery. Something fishy was going on, and he wanted to know what. Carefully, he climbed down from the roof and pursued the couple.

They seemed to be stopping at nearly every house in Spargus. It was the same story almost every time. They'd go in for a few minutes, and when they left the homeowner would be considerably more shaken than when they entered. In some cases, however, the homeowner was as happy as they were. Veger hadn't been able to hear anything else, as he didn't dare try to get close enough to eavesdrop, but the ominous feeling he had grew with each visit.

The ottsel tried to think of what they could be doing, and he had the distinct impression that it had something to do with Anna's cryptic comments the other day. About how his ability to manipulate people could be useful. He hated being on the wrong end of cloak-and-dagger stuff, the wrong end being the end that _wasn't_ pulling the strings.

Eventually, the couple returned to their home. Veger waited outside their door, hiding behind a trash can, but they didn't leave. They had to eventually, though. They'd told that guy that "it" was tonight, and he could only assume it was some sort of meeting. And of course, they would be going to that meeting, right? Why would they walk around town all day if they weren't going to show up to their own meeting?

Veger yawned. God_damn_ it was hot out, and it was making him drowsy. He got into a more comfortable position and leaned against the side of the house. He was still hidden from view, and he could hear if anyone came out. He could close his eyes for a few moments...

* * *

A loud clang disrupted his nap. Veger scrambled to his feet and grabbed at his gun, only to find that it wasn't in his holster. He looked up to find Graham leaning on the trash can, grinning down at him and holding Veger's gun in his hand.

"You know, if you're going to tail someone, it's a good idea to not fall asleep right outside their house," the man said. He chuckled at the look of shock and fear on Veger's face. "Oh, don't look at me like that. If we didn't want you following us, you wouldn't have followed us." Graham held the gun down to him. "Anna actually wants to talk to you."

Cautiously, Veger took his gun back. Graham moved the trash can out of the way and motioned to the open door. Veger didn't move. Like hell he was going in there alone. When that became clear, Graham sighed and walked into the house, yelling for his wife. Veger quickly checked the magazine on his gun. Empty, because Graham wasn't stupid. Unlike him, apparently. Well, he could still bayonet the crap out of someone if need be.

"Ah, Veger, so glad to see you. You saved me a trip," Anna said as she emerged.

Veger frowned. "You were right outside my house this morning, Faima."

"Oh, go ahead and call me Anna." Anna sat down on the top stair. "All my friends do."

"What do you want, Faima?" Veger asked.

"I believe the question is, what do _you_ want?" Anna replied. "You are the one who followed my husband and I around town all day."

Veger hesitated. Did he want to reveal that he knew she was up to something? Did she already know he knew? She had dropped that hint, after all. The main thing, though, was whether or not he _wanted_ to know. He still had time to bow out, turn the other way and just let things unfold. But then, that just wasn't in his nature.

"I want to know what you're planning," Veger said. "Nearly everyone you spoke to today was scared stiff after you left. Everyone else looked as smug as you. And then there was what you said the other day at the beach."

"Hmm, can't pull the wool over your eyes, can I?" Anna said in a tone of voice that suggested that she was pulling the wool over his eyes right now. "You've got a knack for spotting treacherous persons. Takes one to know one, right? After all, you have a lot of practice."

Veger didn't let that rile him. He'd been called much worse by people whose opinions he valued much more. Besides, he wasn't so deluded as to think that his actions hadn't hurt people. He wouldn't have gotten where he was without hurting a few people. But that was his problem, wasn't it...

Before that train of thought could send him spiraling into depression again, Veger responded. "Answer the question, Faima. What are you up to?"

"It's time for some change around here," Anna said. "The people of Spargus are not as content with the status quo as you might believe. Every day out here brings suffering and misery, even to those who do not know any different. Haven't you noticed?"

Veger had. Spargus was a city of violence and death. It was impossible to find a citizen who had not lost a loved one to the desert, either through battle with the Marauders, the storms, heatstroke, or just a fight with another citizen. Seem had said that much of their culture was shaped by necessity, but that wasn't completely true, was it? Their culture had been shaped by their ancestors, and their own choices. Everyone out here was either a merciless criminal or descended from them. And merciless criminals didn't make the best parents.

"We don't _need_ to constantly fight in order to survive. We are not the only culture to live in inhospitable environments, and these other cultures have been able to survive without resorting to brutality as a way of life."

"That's... very true," Veger said.

"Many people here have shunned Haven's ways out of hatred for the city that shunned _them_. But many of us miss civilized society, and with the Marauders gone, it will be simplicity itself to convince the rest of Spargus to embrace civility."

Veger had to admit, he liked the sound of that.

"Perhaps an alliance with Haven could be reached, and Spargus could crawl out of the Dark Ages and join the modern world."

Veger _really_ liked the sound of that. But... "How do you plan on accomplishing this?"

Anna smirked. "How else?" She leaned toward him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "_Rebellion_."

Veger's eyes widened. "R-Rebellion?"

"Yes. Sig is an unfit leader. A fine warrior, but much better suited to taking orders than giving them. He has failed to exert his will over the aldermen even _once_ since taking the throne. He couldn't have kanga-rat fighting outlawed like he wanted, he can't persuade anyone to do as he wishes, and he couldn't stop you from spurring Spargus into war."

"It sounds like you're saying I'd make a better leader," Veger said. "Or perhaps that's just my pride."

Anna chuckled. "Oh, you'd make a better leader, alright. You have much more experience than he does, for starters. And you certainly got things done as you wanted."

"All very true. But no one here, including you, would want _me_ on the throne."

"You're correct in that assessment," Anna said, "but you made quite the impression when you took Kleiver's place at the war meetings. You'd make a fine alderman."

Veger couldn't help but smirk. Damn straight he would. Though something was bothering him about what Anna was saying. "How did you know about that?"

"It's not exactly top-secret. But, if you must know, Volta told me. He and I have been working together on this little project for some time. He hates Sig and wants him out."

"From what I've seen, the feeling is mutual," Veger said.

"But Sig hasn't the guts to take action, and so he allows Volta to remain in a position of power. And that will be his downfall."

"Why are you being so open with me?" Veger asked. "I haven't given you much reason to trust me."

"Who would believe you if you said I was planning a coup? Everyone knows about our history, and no one would take your word over mine. And you wouldn't live very long if you betrayed me."

"You make a good point," Veger conceded.

Anna grinned. "If you wish to take part in this little escapade, Volta will be meeting with the 'volunteers' Graham and I have gathered at midnight tonight. It's in the back room of a little bar I believe you're familiar with. I've seen you there on two separate occasions."

Veger frowned, but nodded. "And how will I get into the meeting? I doubt it's open to the public."

"Talk to the bartender. Just say that I dropped by for a visit. She'll let you in." Anna stood. "So, will Volta see you there?"

Veger hesitated a moment before nodding again. "Count me in."

Anna smiled. "Excellent."

* * *

The arrival of nighttime provided a reprieve from the day's scorching temperatures. Around 11:30, Veger found himself standing in front of the bar, debating with himself over whether or not he _really_ wanted to go in. Every time he'd entered this particular establishment he'd left either injured or scared out of his mind. Did he really want to risk going in a third time?

Yes. Yes he did. He didn't know when, or even if, he'd get another chance like this. With a sigh, Veger went inside. The bar was crowded, surprise surprise, and Veger had to be careful not to get stepped on. He eventually made it to the bar and climbed onto one of the stools. The bartender didn't pay him any mind, instead talking group of her friends further down, all giggles and gossip.

"So, Anna stopped by today..." one of the girls said.

Veger's ear twitched and he glanced in their direction. It was all business now. The bartender led them to a door behind the bar. She unlocked it and the group slipped inside. The bartender returned to her duties like nothing ever happened. With all the activity in the bar, it would have been easy to miss if you weren't paying attention.

But Veger was paying attention. So was the bartender. She noticed that he'd noticed, and that he was now regarding her carefully. She stopped wiping down the counter and glared at him. "Something you wanna say, rat?"

Veger cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, actually. Anna called on me earlier this evening."

It was like someone flipped a switch. The bartender dropped the attitude, stood up straight, and motioned for him to follow. Veger jumped down from the bar stool and walked around the bar. The bartender waited until he was closer before she unlocked and opened the door. Veger hurried into the back room and the bartender closed the door behind him.

The back room was much larger than was strictly necessary for a bar, or maybe it just looked that way because whatever used to be stored here had been removed to allow room for the meeting. Veger was sure half the city was here, and wondered how many of them had been coerced. Many of them, he guessed, judging by how nervous everyone looked.

"Listen up, Wastelanders!" That was Volta, alright. The meeting was starting.

The room went silent. Veger noticed that he couldn't hear the noise from the bar, and figured that the room had been soundproofed. A wise bit of forethought, likely Anna's doing. Just how long had this rebellion been in the making?

Veger made his way through the crowd so he could actually see what was going on. At the head of the room was Volta, standing on a crate. He was grinning, obviously thrilled to have so many people. He was flanked by Quaifer and Galvani, who both looked just as happy with the turnout as he was. Veger wondered idly if Petra would be here too, if she hadn't been killed in the war.

"You all know why you're here, right?" The crowd all nodded in unison. The effect was actually kind of creepy, and Veger felt his skin crawl. "Right. Now, I can see that a lotta you don't really wanna be here. Well, I've gotta question for you. _Are you Wastelanders or not?_"

The sudden volume caused most of the room to jump, including Veger. He watched as Volta continued his diatribe. "Spargus has been going downhill ever since Damas died, and you know why? Because our new leader's a fucking pussy, that's why! Sig's too soft to run Spargus the way it's supposed to be run!

"Think of all the trouble we could have been saved if he'd let us just destroy the Marauders from the get-go! We could have crushed their forces easily. But no, we had to 'fight fair' and have half our city crumble to dust around us!"

The crowd was looking less nervous now, more angry. People looked at each other and voiced their agreement. Sig really should have just taken them out on that first day.

"Sig's actually got _friends_ in Haven, and wants us to become more like _them_! He's tried to impose these ridiculous restrictions on us, tried to limit our freedom! He's turned his back on the law of the Wasteland! Kill or be killed! That's the only law we need!

"If we want our city back, there's only one way to do it! Get that traitor off the throne and put a _real_ Wastelander in charge!"

The crowd cheered, stomping their feet and waving their guns. Veger looked around nervously. He really hoped one of those guns didn't go off. He also hoped one of those big heavy boots didn't come down on his skull. But most of all, he hoped he could get the hell out of there soon.

The meeting continued in much the same way for some time, Volta ranting about how Sig wasn't a real Wastelander, he needed to be kicked out, everything wrong with Spargus was his fault, and so on. Meanwhile, Veger's worry grew until he almost felt physically sick. How could Anna and Volta be working together on this rebellion if their visions for Spargus were so different? After Sig was gone, would Spargus be plunged into civil war? Had Anna lied? Was Volta lying? Were they both lying? And why oh why had he gotten himself involved?

Eventually, the meeting came to a close and the crowd started to exit through a door that led into an alleyway. Veger dodged between people's feet and made it to the wall. He wasn't going to try to leave with the crowd, as that was a sure way to get trampled. He just had to wait a little longer, then he could go home, crawl into bed, and pretend tonight was just a bad dream. Long as he could get out without being noticed...

"Veger!"

Well, so much for that. Volta was walking up to him, smirking victoriously. "Well, I'm almost surprised to see you here."

"Almost?" Veger asked.

"I just had this gut feeling that you'd wanna be a part of this," Volta said. He shifted his gun from one hand to the other and leaned on the wall. "So, what'd you think of my little speech? I took a page out of your book and got them all riled up. Getting people pissed really works wonders."

"I've... noticed," Veger replied.

"So." Volta knelt down to Veger's level. "I need to ask you a favor."

"Al...right..." Veger didn't like where this was going.

"We need to get as many aldermen on board as possible to make sure this goes smoothly," Volta said. "Seem's obviously out, and with Petra dead we've only got three out of five. Not bad, but it could be better."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Veger asked, though he already knew the answer.

"We need you to convince Kleiver to join up," Volta said. "I've dropped a couple hints, but he's... not the brightest torch, if you get me."

"I get you. I'll... see what I can do." _Can I please go now?_

"Good on ya. Soon as he's set, we can move forward. See you then."

"See you then," Veger echoed before ducking out the door. He ran home, cursing his stupidity the whole way. Why did he allow himself to get sucked into these things? There had to be something he could do to fix this. Was it too late to back out? _Should_ he back out? What would happen if he did?

Veger hoped things would be clearer in the morning, after he'd gotten some rest. And, for once, things worked out as he'd hoped. When he woke up for the day, he had only slept for a couple hours, and the hours he spent asleep were plagued with bad dreams. These dreams, however, had made his path clear.

Tired, but determined, Veger got out of bed and walked into the main room. Kleiver was at the table, eating his breakfast. He grunted at Veger in salutation, and Veger climbed onto his chair. His resolve wavered for a moment, but for only a moment.

"Kleiver," Veger said. "There's... something I need to speak to you about."


	14. Let The Sparks Fly

"You sure this is a good idea?"

"I'm not sure of anything anymore."

Kleiver looked from his sidekick back to the desert before him. They were driving through the Wasteland in the dead of night to get to another meeting with the rebellion. There had been three this week alone, and at the last one Volta had specifically said that this meeting was only for those who were truly willing to give it all up for the rebellion. That was the reason it was being held outside of Spargus: it was too dangerous to talk about within city walls.

The rebellion had been nothing but meetings since Veger got involved. No protest riots, no bombings, not even any dissident graffiti. And truthfully, part of him hoped that's all the rebellion would ever be, just a bunch of pissed-off but lazy bastards who liked to get together and complain about how much life sucks. But he had the feeling that this time, they were finally going to act, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Three cars were already parked in front of the Marauders' abandoned fortress by the time they showed up. Kleiver pulled up beside them and got out, casting another glance at the ottsel on his shoulder. He looked anxious, which seemed to be his default emotion now. Kleiver couldn't help but wonder why he was sticking with this when he so obviously regretted it.

The duo entered the fortress to find that Volta, Quaifer and Galvani were already there and already deep in the discussion of their plans. The group hushed and looked at the new arrivals in alarm, but relaxed when they saw that they were compatriots, not Sig or any of his followers.

"You're late, Kleiver," Quaifer said. "We thought you'd pussied out."

"Like hell," Kleiver replied.

"Well, we're glad to see ya," Volta said, "because we need all the help we can get."

"Oh, boy," Veger murmured. "What's your ingenious plan to remove Sig from power?"

Volta grinned. "Kill him."

Honestly, Veger wasn't sure why that answer shocked him. He'd seen Wastelanders kill each other over a lot less than political disagreement. Hell, he'd seen people killed for a lot less back in Haven. And he knew damn well that Volta was volatile and hated Sig's guts, but still... Actually, now that he thought about it, it surprised him only because the jump from "complain about the government" to "assassinate the king" was a big one.

Surprisingly, Galvani looked uncomfortable at the prospect of the rebellion actually doing away with the ruler they were trying to depose. Go figure. "I still think we should just imprison him. Sig may be inept as a leader, but he is still one of Spargus' finest warriors. He doesn't deserve to be put down like a rabid crocadog."

"Then what do you think we should do with him, huh?" Volta asked. "Leave him alive, he can come back and try to retake the throne. Leave him alive, he'll still have his supporters. But kill him, and that's it. He ain't fit to rule if he can't keep his own people from bumping him off."

_Flawless logic,_ Veger thought disparagingly.

"Okay, so how about this? We get him cornered and give him the chance to surrender. He takes it, fine, he doesn't, we kill him. Give _him_ the choice." Quaifer suggested. Volta and Galvani thought for a moment before mumbling their agreement. Quaifer looked at Kleiver and Veger. "What about you two?"

The two of them looked at each other. Kleiver didn't really care for any of this and had no talent for deception. When Veger had approached him that morning a few weeks ago, he had told his sidekick straight up that their involvement in anything the rebellion did would be his call. Even now, with so much on the line, Kleiver found that he didn't have anything to contribute. Besides, he trusted Veger's judgment.

"I think..." Veger cleared his throat in a transparent bid to stall for time as he considered his options. It didn't take very long for him to see this as a blessing in disguise, however. "I think that's the perfect solution!"

The other men were slightly taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm, but they didn't question it. Instead, they got down to the business of actually planning the assassination. After several hours of tossing around ideas, they finally had a simple, but solid plan. Veger would accompany Kleiver to the next aldermen meeting and, with the five of them, they would easily have Sig outgunned.

Volta voiced concerns about Seem interfering with things and brought up the possibility of needing to take her out, too. Veger quickly nixed that idea, assuring him that he would see to it that she was elsewhere when everything went down. Volta voiced his incredulity at that, but luckily, Kleiver, Galvani and Quaifer all sided with Veger, since whacking the head monk was a really, _really_ bad idea.

The next few days seemed to drag on as they waited for the big day. Everything was going to change, for better or for worse. Veger, oddly enough, was calmer than he'd been in awhile. When Kleiver asked him about it, he admitted that he actually felt in control of the situation, and that he was starting to think that maybe he hadn't made a colossal mistake. Kleiver then reminded him not to get complacent or else things would go horribly wrong at the worst possible moment.

Finally, the day had arrived. Veger spent most of the morning pacing around the house, the anxiety he _hadn't_ had the past few days hitting him at full force as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were about to attempt to _force the king from his throne at gunpoint_. If that didn't warrant a little nervousness, nothing did.

The meeting was scheduled for noon, and for once Veger was able to get Kleiver to arrive on time. As they walked in the building and got a funny look from the receptionist, it occurred to Veger that maybe changing the routine like that wasn't the best way to remain beneath suspicion.

"Where d'ya think _you're_ going?" the receptionist asked just as Kleiver was about to open the door. "Last I checked, your pet wasn't one of the aldermen."

"Well, so much fer that," Kleiver mumbled.

"Forget about it, I'll wait out here until Seem leaves," Veger said. "It's not like we didn't see this coming." But they'd still hoped he could get in. Oh well.

Veger jumped to the floor and nearly fell flat on his face. He still didn't have his balance back 100% and he would do well to remember that little fact. Trying to pretend like his almost-faceplant never happened and ignoring the receptionist's snickering, Veger sat down outside the door and waited.

Several minutes into the meeting, a monk ran in, looking very shaken up. He ran through the doors into the meeting hall, despite the receptionist's protests, and all Veger could hear was him yelling for Seem before the doors slammed shut again. Another couple minutes passed before the monk left, followed by Seem. As she stopped to briefly explain to the receptionist that a situation had arisen that she needed to address, Veger slipped into the room unnoticed. What a conveniently random event that he had no part in.

Inside, there was some debate about whether or not to continue the meeting. Sig felt that without Seem to give her input, they shouldn't be discussing important city matters, and of course everyone else wanted him to stay put.

"Listen, I've had enough of this. This meeting is over," Sig said as he stood and started to leave the room, "and I'm going to make sure everything's okay down at the mona-What are _you_ doing in here?" Sig was surprised to find Veger standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking his path to the door.

Behind him, the aldermen got to their feet and approached Sig from several directions. Galvani walked down the left side of the room and Quaifer headed down the right. Kleiver made his way over to his sidekick as Volta came up to Sig from directly behind and drew his gun, triumphant smirk on his face.

Sig heard the click and spun around, pulling out his gun and aiming it between Volta's eyes in one fluid motion. He found the business end of Volta's rifle inches away from his heart. His finely-honed Wastelander reflexes had kept him alive so far. Hopefully they wouldn't fail him now.

"Don't do this, man," Sig said. "You don't have to die like this."

"Oh, you seem to be confused," Volta sneered. "_I'm_ not the one who's going to die today."

Four guns were cocked in unison, and Sig looked around him. His heart sank when he saw Quaifer, Galvani, Kleiver, and Veger, now on Kleiver's shoulder, all aiming at him. Five on one. Eh, he'd faced worse odds. Then again, he'd had room to move without getting shot.

"Sons of bitches..." Sig growled.

"Just drop your gun, Sig," Galvani said, "and you'll walk out of this room alive."

"Yeah, and then you bastards throw me into the desert," Sig replied. He turned his gaze back to Volta. "If I gotta die, I'd rather go down fighting, like a _real_ Wastelander."

"You won't have much chance to fight," Volta said.

Kleiver and Veger exchanged glances and nodded at each other. "Then what d'ya say..." Kleiver started.

"... we even the odds," Veger finished.

Kleiver turned to aim his gun at Quaifer and Veger did the same with Galvani. Sig couldn't see their befuddled, fearful expressions, but smirked as he watched Volta's face contort in rage as he realized he'd been tricked.

"You... you traitorous shits!" Volta roared.

"You're one to talk," Sig said.

"Shut up! I'll kill-" _BANG_. Volta crumpled to the ground, a hole where his face used to be. Sig turned around lazily and regarded the other two traitors in the room. Quaifer and Galvani were still aiming at him, but they were glancing from him to Volta, horrified and clearly rethinking their decision to join the rebellion.

"If you don't want to end up like your buddy here, I suggest you put those down," Sig said calmly.

Quaifer and Galvani glanced at each other. Realizing they were screwed, the two men dropped their guns and held their hands up. Just in time, Sig's guard and Spargus's pseudo-police force arrived.

"We heard a gunshot!" one yelled.

"Are you alright?" another asked.

"Holy shit, what happened?" a third cried upon seeing Volta's corpse.

"Long story short, these bozos thought they could get rid of me," Sig said, gesturing to the traitors in question. "Now take these two and lock 'em up before my friends blow their heads off. It's gonna be a bitch cleaning this blood up and I don't need a bigger mess in here."

"Maybe 'e could have 'is useless guards do it," Kleiver murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Veger grinned in response as the guards, who either didn't hear the comment or ignored it, took the two _living_ traitors away.

"I wouldn't call 'em useless," Sig said, pointing to one of the windows behind them. There was a small, round hole melted in the glass, and in the distance, they could barely see the sun glinting off a sniper's scope. The implication few over Kleiver's head, but it hit Veger instantly.

"You could have had us all killed," he said. He looked at a stone-faced Sig and had to fight to keep his voice level. "You _would_ have had us all killed."

"I don't know why you're so upset, seeing as you're still standing," Sig said.

"You don't know why I'm upset? I'm the one who told about the rebellion in the first place!" Veger glanced at Kleiver. He didn't look as perturbed as his sidekick, which only further angered the ottsel. "Haven't I done enough to earn your trust?"

Sig's brow furrowed. Now _he_ was feeling outraged. "Short answer: no. Long answer: _Fuck_ no. I know you well enough to know that you're a scheming, manipulative bastard with no qualms about betraying someone to get ahead. I'm not stupid enough to turn my back on you while you're holding a gun.

"You _have_ done enough to earn the benefit of the doubt, which is why I went along with your little plan to catch these chumps in the act _and_ told my boys not to just drop you the second you aimed at me. But you will _never_ be able to do enough for me to trust you. I'm _not_ making the same mistake Damas did four years ago."

Veger's throat clenched. "How... how do you know about that?" he whispered.

"Why do you think _I_ took the throne?" Sig asked. "It ain't because I got a pretty face. It's because I was Damas's right-hand man. You think he just forgot about what he left in Haven after you dumped him out here? He sent _me_ to get it from you. Lucky for you, the Underground came along before I could track your sorry ass down."

Kleiver hadn't reacted to the revelation that Sig had made the preparations to have him killed. That was nothing surprising. He hadn't reacted to Veger throwing a fit about it, either. But this conversation had taken a strange turn, and so he finally reacted to what was going on in front of him. "What the hell're ya blokes talkin' about?" He raised an eyebrow at his sidekick. "What did ya do?"

Veger glanced at Kleiver before looking away. "Something I'm... not proud of."

"Didn't stop you from rubbing it in Jak's face," Sig snarled.

Veger winced, as if that comment physically hurt. "I can't change what happened, and I've suffered enough because of it. Let it go."

"Sure, sure. Soon as Jak forgives you, I will too. In the meantime, get the hell out of my sight."

Veger looked at Kleiver pleadingly. In response, the Wastelander sighed and turned to leave. The lobby was filled with guards who were gossiping about what happened instead of doing their job, and a crowd was already starting to gather in front of the House. Kleiver walked as fast as he could without breaking into a jog, and they were home in record time.

Kleiver sauntered into the kitchen to grab something to eat. On the way, Veger jumped from his shoulder to the table. They had walked home in silence, and Kleiver couldn't wait any more. "So... ya gonna explain what that was all about?"

"What _what_ was all about?" Veger asked as he sat in one of the chairs.

"Don' even try to play dumb wit' me," Kleiver said. "There's somethin' yer not tellin' me 'bout you an' Damas. Now fess up."

Veger sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Fine. If you must know, Damas and I were frien... allies. We were allies, and I betrayed him."

Kleiver tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently. "Go on..."

The ottsel groaned softly. "He was the king, I was one of his top advisers. I thought that he wasn't the kind of leadership that Haven needed, so I helped Baron Praxis usurp the throne. _That_ turned out to be a big mistake."

"An' what does any o' this have to do wit' Jak?" Kleiver asked.

"It's... complicated," Veger replied as Kleiver sat down at the table with a cup of coffee.

Kleiver pressed on."What d'ya take from Damas?"

"It's... complicated," Veger repeated.

Angrily, Kleiver slammed his hand on the table, making the ottsel jump. "Damn it, ratface, ya'd better tell me whatcha did, or I swear I'm gonna-"

"Alright, alright," Veger said. "Just, promise me one thing. Promise me that you will never bring this up again. Please?"

Kleiver sighed. "Fine. Now get to tellin'."

"Okay... Well, shortly before Damas was overthrown, he confided in me that he thought a mutiny was brewing. At first, I feared that he'd found me out, but I kept my mouth shut and it turned out that he didn't suspect me at all. Instead, he asked me that I keep his son safe, if something should happen to him."

"An' I'm guessin' that's not what happened," Kleiver said.

"Not entirely. When Praxis and his guards imprisoned Damas, I took his son and tried to hide him away. I wanted to tap into the boy's latent channeling powers for my experiments, but I never got the chance. On the way home, the boy managed to slip away from me and disappear into the crowd. Just as I found him again, I saw a group of men I recognized as rebels going after him. I didn't dare intervene, as I knew it would cost me my life."

"So ya kidnapped a kid to turn 'im into yer lab rat, then let a buncha criminals take 'im," Kleiver summarized gruffly, obviously disgusted with the story.

"My experiments wouldn't have harmed the boy," Veger snapped defensively. "And I knew he would be as safe with the Underground as he would be with me. They supported Damas and would recognize his seal. If anything, the boy was safer with them. If Praxis found out I was housing him, we both would have been put to death."

"An' how'd that all turn out?" Kleiver asked. "Where's the kid now?"

Veger didn't answer immediately. There's no way he'd be able to explain that Jak, of all people, was Damas's son. He could scarcely believe it himself sometimes. Going into detail would make him sound insane, and it would reveal secrets about the Precursors that he didn't think Kleiver ought to know. Frankly, none of this was Kleiver's business anyway.

"... Well?" Kleiver prompted.

"I don't know, alright? I haven't seen the boy since I saw the Underground take him. After Praxis was killed and Ashelin took control of the city, I expected the boy to resurface, but no. And they never told me where he was or what happened to him. He's all but vanished off the face of the earth."

Kleiver actually looked mournful for a moment. "Maybe 'e's with 'is Pop again..." He looked at Veger coldly. "An' it's all thanks to you, isn't it?"

"I... I am not proud of what I did, but had I not taken the boy, Praxis would have killed him. I saved his life. I gave him a chance," Veger argued. "It's not my fault that things spiraled out of control."

"Is that what ya tell yerself so ya can sleep at night?" Kleiver asked judgmentally.

"... Yes," Veger murmured. Unlike the last part of what he'd just told Kleiver, this time he was telling the truth.


	15. You're Going Down

The sudden loss of three of Spargus's most important citizens rocked the community to its core. With the death of Volta, the city's main electrician and the guy who ran the power plant, outages became frequent. The loss of Galvani, the chief miner, and Quaifer, who owned the city's wells, also caused some problems in keeping steady sources of water and metal for the city.

However, there was a silver lining to this turbulent time. Sig was now in a position to push through his plan for an alliance with Haven. He still had Seem's support, as always, and Veger was able to convince Kleiver to back the plan as well. And the promise of improved infrastructure and water supplies were more than enough to convince the citizens of Spargus that maybe it wasn't such a terrible idea, either.

After a few weeks of meetings, paperwork, meetings, planning, meetings, construction, and meetings, Spargus was well on its way to expansion and growth. Despite some initial misgivings, the relationship with Haven helped to improve life in Spargus across the board. However, there was still an old score to settle. Too bad its would-be victim had all but forgotten about it, until it came back to bite him.

It was like any other day in Spargus for Veger. He was accompanying Kleiver on his errands around town, and at the moment they were amongst a group of Wastelanders who were watching the construction of a building along the ocean, in an area that used to be nothing but solid rock. It had been blasted away, and now that rock was being reused, along with steel girders and other materials, to build a desalination plant.

Veger was trying to explain to Kleiver how desalination plants worked and why it was good for the city, which meant he was too distracted to notice the woman sneaking through the crowd. Gun in hand, she took aim at the ottsel. She had the back of his head in her sights and had just pulled the trigger when Kleiver turned to leave and the shot barely grazed Veger's arm.

"Aagh!" The sudden pain caused Veger to lose his balance and he fell from Kleiver's shoulder plate. Kleiver immediately pulled out his gun and aimed in the direction the shot came from. The rest of the crowd did the same and backed away from the culprit, though everyone lowered their weapons when they saw who it was.

"Anna?" Kleiver asked.

Veger barely managed to get to his feet and look at his attacker. She hadn't responded to Kleiver, instead choosing to fire at Veger again. The shot struck the sand inches away from him and the ottsel backed up in such a hurry that he stumbled and fell.

"Anna, stop it!" Kleiver said, standing between her gun and his sidekick. He hadn't raised his gun at her, though. They were friends, and friends don't shoot friends. Right?

"Move, Kleiver," Anna ordered. "I'm through playing games. The rat needs to die. Don't make me kill you, too."

Kleiver was about to respond when another gunshot rang out, this one from behind him. The eco shot flew through the air and barely missed taking off the rest of Anna's half-missing ear. Veger was back on his feet and had moved into the open to get a clear shot. Despite his wound, he showed no fear as he stared down the woman who he'd once been terrified of.

"I promise you, my next shot won't miss," Veger said. "Walk away now and I'll forget this ever happened."

"Who are you to threaten _me_?" Anna snarled. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

Veger fired, striking Anna's shoulder. Her prosthetic arm went flying and her gun tumbled to the ground. She clutched the wound and looked at the ottsel fiercely. How could this be happening? What had happened to the cowardly rat she'd met in the bar so many months ago? And now, he had the _gall_ to lower his gun, as if she was no longer dangerous!

"Consider that my last warning. If you try this kind of stunt again, I _will_ cut you down. Now get out of here," Veger said, holstering his gun.

"You... little..." Anna grabbed her gun and, wielding it like a club, rushed forward. Veger went for his gun, but he wasn't fast enough. She slammed the end of her gun into him, sending him skidding across the sand before he came to rest at the base of a boulder.

"Enough!" Kleiver grabbed Anna's gun before she could try to finish the job. She tried to tug it out of his grip, and soon he was staring down its barrel, her hand dangerously close to the trigger.

"What is going on here?" All eyes went to the new arrival on scene. Sig had his gun in his hands and looked ready to rumble. He looked over the situation before him, as if he wasn't sure who to aim at. He glared at the two Wastelanders who seemed to be the cause of the trouble. "Well?"

Kleiver and Anna were silent. They had stopped struggling over the gun, though neither had let go. They alternated glaring at each other and looking at the king. Finally, Anna spoke, her eye going to Veger. "I have an old debt that needs to be repaid."

Sig followed her gaze. The ottsel was bruised and bleeding, but he'd gotten back to his feet. He was leaning on the boulder and holding his head, but he was also watching Anna carefully. If she came at him again, he would be ready. He hoped.

"Alright," Sig said. "I don't need street brawls breaking out on top of all the other shit I gotta deal with, so you know what's gonna happen? You guys are going to settle this properly. Tomorrow morning, in the Arena."

A murmur went through the crowd. A little rat going toe-to-toe with a former mob boss? That was a mockery of everything the Arena stood for! Veger, for his part, seemed to forget about everything he'd learned during his time in Spargus and felt like he was going to be sick. Anna, however, was placated.

"That's acceptable," Anna said. Giving Kleiver a pointed look, she got him to relinquish the gun. In deference to her king, she holstered the gun instead of just shooting Veger.

"And remember, after this, your grudge is over, no matter what the outcome. Got it?" Sig asked.

Anna chuckled. "Of course, Your Highness. If this rat somehow gets the better of me, my family will leave well enough alone, as our law dictates."

Sig nodded. "Good. You got that, Veger?" The ottsel nodded numbly. Satisfied, Sig left to make the arrangements. The crowd dispersed and after throwing one more glare at Veger, Anna disappeared as well. Kleiver sighed and went to check on Veger, but the ottsel was already running after Sig.

"Sig!" he called.

The Wastelander looked annoyed, but stopped and looked at Veger. "What do you want?"

"Don't... Don't you remember what I told you?" Veger asked. "About Anna and the rebellion?"

Sig rolled his eyes. "I remember. I also remember explaining to you that there was no evidence that Anna was ever at any of those meetings. Really, cherry, this is just sad. Man the hell up." Sig turned on his heel and continued walking, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

Veger hardly spoke the rest of the day, instead sitting at the window and staring off into space. He could think of nothing other than how he was sure to die a painful, humiliating death within the next twenty-four hours. Kleiver went about his normal business, occasionally checking to see if Veger had moved at all, but otherwise leaving him alone until it dinner rolled around.

"Food's ready," Kleiver called from the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry," Veger said.

"The hell yer not, ya 'aven't eaten all day. C'mon, ya need somethin' in yer stomach if yer gonna fight t'morrow."

"What's the point?" Veger asked. He looked at Kleiver, despair all over his face. "I can't win. I'm as good as dead."

"Ya don' really think that, do ya?" Kleiver sauntered over to him and held out his hand. "Lemme see yer Amulet." Veger didn't know where he was going with this, but did as he was told. Kleiver took the Battle Amulet and pointed out the middle piece. "Ya remember whatcha got this one fer?"

"Killing that kanga-rat," Veger replied. "But there's a big difference between a kanga-rat and a Wastelander."

"Maybe, but when yer a scrawny rat fresh outta Haven, killing a champion fighting kanga-rat wit' yer bare 'ands is pretty close to winnin' in the Arena. 'Ow 'bout this one?" Kleiver tapped the second piece of the Amulet. "D'ya remember what ya earned this one fer?"

"I was injured in battle."

"That's not why ya got it," Kleiver said. "It ain't even cuz you made it out alive. Ya got this Amulet cuz you took down a big-ass death machine on yer own."

"I wouldn't go that far... I only-"

"Yeah, yeah, ya _only_ fought off a dozen Marauders an' broke a catapult wit' nuthin' but a rifle and yer own muscle. An' think about everythin' else ya've been through out 'ere. Yer stronger now than ya were when ya first set foot in Spargus. Ya have a real chance o' winnin' this thing."

"Why are you even doing this?" Veger hung his head, as if the weight of his hopelessness was only worsened by his roommate's attempts to cheer him up. "Why are you trying to convince me to put up a fight and try to kill Anna? She's your friend."

"So're you," Kleiver said simply.

Veger looked up at him in surprise. "R... really?"

"O' course, what made ya think otherwise?" Kleiver asked.

"I... nothing."

"'Sides, if ya gotta go down, I'd rather see ya go down fightin'."

"Gee, thanks." Despite the sarcasm, Veger smiled. It had been awhile since he had someone to call a friend, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it.

* * *

The next morning, the Arena was jam-packed. Almost no one thought that the fight would actually be worth watching, but the fight wasn't really why the citizens had decided to go. The entire Faima gang had shown up so they could watch the man who banished them get what he deserved. Despite Veger's service to Spargus, the personal grudges of many of its citizens had not been forgotten, and they were there for the same reason as the Faimas.

Kleiver was there to support Veger, and of course Sig was there to oversee everything, as was his duty as king. Seem was in attendance as well, though her monks never got a reason out of her. Was she there because she still cared or because she wanted to watch him fall? Or was it merely because _someone_ had to pray for the soul of whoever died there today, and as head monk that task normally fell to her?

The combatants would be using melee weapons. Anna, who had a new prosthetic, chose to wield a scimitar that had been taken from a Marauder some time ago. Veger couldn't find another weapon that he felt as comfortable with as his gun, and eventually requested that he just use the bayonet. After removing the magazine and clearing the chamber, they approved his request.

The crowd cheered when Anna stepped onto the stage, but the applause evaporated and turned into hisses and boos, along with some laughter, when Veger came out. Seem sent a quiet prayer to the Precursors, asking that his death be as swift and painless as possible.

"I must admit, I never thought I'd see the day when I got to send you to your precious Precursors, especially on this hallowed ground. It's an honor that you don't deserve," Anna said.

Veger was not in the mood to engage in banter. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

Hefting the sword high, Anna ran at the ottsel. She brought it down as hard as she could, but Veger leaped to the side, letting the sword slice through air. Anna's forward momentum made her stumble a bit, giving Veger the perfect opportunity to strike. But, not wanting to get close to her, he hesitated. Anna recovered quickly and was on the attack once more.

If there was one thing that could be said for ottsels, they were hard as hell to actually hit when they were moving. Veger's heightened agility made it look like he was dodging Anna's blows with ease, but really his mind was so preoccupied with trying to keep all his limbs attached that he hadn't been able to think of a way to counter. And it was only a matter of time before his stamina ran out or he slipped up.

"Stand and fight, coward!" Anna yelled. She kicked at Veger, which was a maneuver he hadn't thought to watch out for as his eyes were on the big sharp thing in her hands. Her boot connected with his chest and he went skidding across the stand, coming to a stop just at the very edge. Without the insulation of the platform, he could feel the intense heat of the lava and he was sure his fur would catch fire.

Before he could move, Anna was on top of him. She aimed to cleave him in two, and he barely managed to bring his gun up in time to catch the sword. The blade caught on the gun's barrel, and soon it was a battle of strength. And of course, an ottsel was no match for a human in such a battle. The blade inched closer to his face and Anna was already grinning in victory.

The sword moved ever so slightly down the barrel, and that gave Veger the stroke of inspiration that saved his skin. He suddenly tilted one end of his gun down and the blade slid, nearly causing Anna to topple. With all of his strength, he swung the other end of his gun up and his bayonet caught her in the face.

There was a gasp from the crowd and Anna stumbled away, hand to her face. Veger got to his feet and quickly backed away from her and the edge of the platform. That's when he noticed the eyepatch sticking to his bayonet. He pulled the cloth free and tossed it away just as Anna pulled her hand away and glared ferociously at him. If she hadn't already lost that eye, she would have after the hit Veger gave her. A nasty gash reached from her ear to the bridge of her nose, and there was blood coming from her empty eye socket.

It was a nauseating sight, but Veger had no time to throw up as Anna was now beyond frustrated. She was livid, enraged beyond belief that _he_ had managed to draw first blood. She ran at him, swinging her blade wildly. Many a martial arts master will tell you that berserker rage only makes a warrior easier to defeat. Of course, this is under the assumption that the warrior in question is fighting a martial arts master.

In this case, the berserker rage only made Anna more dangerous, as Veger had no real training in how to handle a fight and reacted with fear. His attempts to dodge became messier and more desperate, and he paid for it dearly. Anna managed to plunge her sword into his tail, the bone being the only thing stopping the blade from cleanly slicing a couple inches off.

Veger cried out in agony and sank to his knees. Anna lifted the blade, which allowed Veger to move again, but allowed the blood to spill from his wound. Veger instinctively twisted around and brought his gun up to block the sword as it came down, but he'd miscalculated what Anna's next move would be. Instead, Anna had swung underhand, which not only cut through his chest and knocked him backwards, but the gun slipped from his hands and clattered across the ring before falling into the lava.

"Well, it looks like you're right fucked now, aren't you?" Anna cackled, clearly enjoying herself. "If you surrender now, I'll make it quick. What do you say?"

The ottsel seriously considered taking the offer. He looked at the blade in her hand, sharp and heavy and wielded by an experienced killer. He looked around the stage, which was barren and had nothing to serve as a replacement weapon. He looked around the Arena at the hundreds of people who wanted to see him die. And then he saw, on one of the platforms high above, the one person he knew was rooting for him. Kleiver.

Determination returned to Veger's face and he looked at Anna defiantly. "I say go to hell."

"Ha. You might have made a decent Wastelander after all. Too bad we'll never see that happen." Raising her sword, she lunged at him. Veger jumped back and the sword missed. He turned and ran until he was at the edge of the stage, then faced his opponent again.

"You poor thing. You've been driven mad by fear, haven't you?" Anna mocked. Veger didn't respond, but instead watched her intently. She walked a few more steps toward him before she lifted her sword with both hands and put all of her weight into a forward charge.

That was when Veger moved. He somersaulted underneath her blade and through her legs. Anna wasn't expecting him to move and nearly ran right off the edge of the platform. She didn't have time to regain her balance when Veger launched himself at her, and fifty-five pounds of ottsel slamming her in the back sent her over.

Anna had barely started to scream when she hit the lava face-first. Veger backed away from the edge and looked away from the grisly sight. The Arena was dead silent. The ottsel looked around. He couldn't make out the faces of the people in the crowd, and he couldn't fathom what they were thinking. Well, he could guess what _some_ of them were thinking.

Machinery sprang to life and the elevator that would take him up to the victor's dais lowered to his level. Slowly, and trying not to aggravate his injuries, Veger stepped onto the elevator. The adrenaline was slowly dissipating, and soon the pain began to return to his injuries. He wasn't sure he could walk without dragging his tail along the ground, but he didn't dare try to carry it. That would require looking at the injury, and despite the horrors he'd seen, he wasn't sure he had the stomach for it.

Carefully, Veger stepped off the elevator and onto the platform. He looked at the people on the balcony above him. Seem's eyes were closed and her hands folded in prayer. Kleiver was smiling at him, but his smile was tinged with sadness. And Sig was, well, unable to believe what he was about to say.

"Congratulations on your first real Arena victory," Sig said. He stood up and held up a small piece of metal, one nearly identical to his second Amulet. "This is your third and final Battle Amulet. You're officially a Wastelander now. Don't ever let anyone tell ya that you don't belong here." He tossed it down to Veger, who managed to catch it in mid-air. He pulled his Battle Amulet out of his pocket and attached the last piece.

"That ain't just a shiny piece of scrap, by the way," Sig said. "It's a beacon. We'll be there for you if you ever need us, like one big happy family."

Veger snorted, but didn't make any snide comments. Instead, he smiled at Sig sincerely. "Thank you."

Sig nodded and got up to leave. Around them, citizens started to leave as well. Veger tucked the completed Amulet into his pocket and walked up the stairs to the exit, where he met up with Kleiver.

"Congratulations, mate," Kleiver said. "I knew ya could do it..."

Veger looked up at his roommate. The big lug might have thought he was good at keeping a straight face, but the grief on his face was plain as day. "For what it's worth, Kleiver... I'm sorry."

The human Wastelander made an odd noise, a cross between a squeak and a cough. Behind them, Seem saw the exchange and felt a stab of sympathy. She walked over to them, determined to stop this emotional train wreck before it started.

"Well done, Veger," she said. "You performed admirably. Would you like me to tend your wounds for you?"

Veger was at first surprised by the offer, but quickly picked up on what she was trying to do. "Yes, I would appreciate that very much." The ottsel looked at his roommate. "I'll meet you at home, alright?"

"Yeah..." Kleiver murmured. He nodded politely to Seem before heading out of the Arena. She and Veger watched him go before looking at each other.

"We... ought to get you patched up. Come along," Seem said, leading the way.

"Right." Veger followed, wincing, though he felt like he had no reason to complain. The pain Anna had inflicted on him could be healed easily, and it would be gone in no time. But the pain he had inflicted on his roommate... his friend... not so much.


	16. Blood Brothers

When Kleiver awoke the next morning, he felt as awful as when he'd went to bed. He'd barely slept, he had a headache, and now his stomach was bothering him. Well, the death of his friend had killed his appetite the day before, and by now he'd gone without food for over half a day. While he'd like nothing more than to just stay in bed all day, that wouldn't make him feel less crappy, so with a resigned sigh, he got up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kleiver saw that Veger's bed was empty. The ottsel had been getting up earlier lately, but after what happened the day before, Kleiver expected him to still be exhausted. It was late in the evening when Veger came home, loopy from a cocktail of anesthetic and painkillers, half-asleep in Seem's arms. The monk had explained that the wound on his tail needed surgery, and they had taken about three inches off the end. Also, his chest wound had required stitches, and he wouldn't be able to move much.

Kleiver was surprised that Veger was up and about so soon after an amputation. He was even more surprised when he walked out into the main room of his house and found that Veger was in the kitchen, making breakfast. The ottsel had dragged a chair over so he could use the stove, and at the moment he was poking at something in one of the pans and muttering to himself. The sink, which had been empty the night before, was filled with various mixing bowls and measuring cups, as well as a pot that looked to have had some kind of sauce prepared in it.

Veger looked over at Kleiver, who almost laughed. The ottsel's front was covered in flour, batter, egg, spices and meat sauce. Seeing his normally fastidious roommate make a mess of himself wasn't something he'd expected to wake up to, and the ridiculousness of it cheered him up immensely.

"I was just about to wake you," Veger said as he shut the burners off. "Why don't you get yourself a drink? I'm almost done."

"Shouldn't _I_ be cooking fer _you_? Yer the one wit' the injuries," Kleiver replied.

"I'm fine. Besides, it's about time I earned my keep." Veger placed two fried eggs on each of their plates, followed by the main dish, which he'd been fighting with all morning.

Kleiver took one look at their plates and smiled. Veger had made pan-fried stuffed bread, the most complicated recipe he had, which was why he didn't make it often, despite it being his favorite. Kleiver picked up his plate, stopping to pat Veger's head affectionately. "Thanks, mate."

"It's the least I could do," Veger said. He grabbed his plate and joined his roommate at the table. He watched Kleiver eat for several minutes, inwardly debating whether or not to bring up what had happened the day before. He still felt like there was there were still things that needed to be said, but he didn't want to ruin Kleiver's good mood.

"... Somethin' on yer mind?" Kleiver finally asked. "Ya 'aven't touched yer breakfast."

"I... was just wondering if I'd made it to your satisfaction," Veger replied.

"Yeah, it's good, 'specially considerin' ya've never made it b'fore," Kleiver said.

"I'm glad." Veger prodded an egg with his fork. Glancing at Kleiver one more time, he took the plunge. "Kleiver, I... I wanted to tell you how sorry I am."

"Ya told me yesterday," Kleiver said curtly, "an' I believe ya." His face softened when he looked at his roommate. "I don' hate ya fer what 'appened to Anna."

"It's not just that," Veger said. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for... for taking advantage of you. You've done so much for me since I got here. You've housed me, fed me, protected me... and I've given you nothing but grief in return. I'm so, so sorry."

Kleiver shrugged. "Don' worry 'bout it, and stop tryin' to convince me to hate yer guts. It ain't gonna fix anythin', an' it sure as 'ell won't make anyone feel better."

"I suppose you're right," Veger said. He had to admit, this was a nice change of pace. And now that he was a full-fledged Wastelander... well, maybe he would finally be able to settle in and find a place for himself here.

After breakfast, Kleiver insisted that his sidekick lie down and rest while he cleaned up. The ottsel was nearly asleep when someone pounding on the front door woke him up. He grumbled irritably and rolled over as he heard Kleiver walk over to greet the visitor.

"... Graham?"

Veger jumped out of his bed like he'd seen a spider on his pillow. He opened the bedroom door in time to see Kleiver step outside and close the door behind him. Veger rushed up the stairs and ran across the workshop. He carefully opened the window so he could hear their conversation without being seen.

"... not like I'm gonna bring 'im along," Kleiver was saying.

"I don't give a shit. You're going to stay away from her funeral if you know what's good for you," Graham said.

"She was my friend, and I'm going," Kleiver replied.

"She was my _wife_, and what I say goes," Graham snarled back. "And I say that you aren't welcome there unless you bring us that rat's head on a pike. You're just as guilty as _he_ is."

"'Ow d'ya figure that?" Kleiver snapped.

"If you hadn't decided to harbor the little fucker, he'd have gotten what he deserved a long time ago. He should have been the one to die in the Arena, not Anna."

Kleiver was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again he was quiet. "If 'e was s'posed to die, 'e would've. But 'e didn't. The Arena's law is clear an' absolute. Anna knew what she was gettin' into when she agreed to the fight."

"She shouldn't have lost to that goddamn rat!" Graham shouted. "Don't try to tell me it was the Arena's will or whatever bullshit you were going to try. It was a fluke, a goddamn fluke. The little shit got lucky. He shouldn't have gotten a fucking Amulet!"

"'E proved 'imself worthy o' bein' a Wastelander."

"Worthier than _Anna_?" Veger heard a soft thud and a grunt. Risking being spotted, he leaned out the window. Kleiver was on the ground, rubbing a new bruise on his cheek while Graham stood over him, gun in hand.

Graham aimed at his former friend. "Why don't you try telling that to Anna's face when you see her?"

Without thinking, Veger leaped out the window. He landed on Graham, causing his shot to miss and sending the two of them tumbling into the dirt. The ottsel got to his feet quickly and ran over to where Graham was lying, dazed. He grabbed the gun from the Wastelander's hand, jumped onto his stomach, and stuck the end of the barrel in Graham's face.

"Don't. Do. That. Again," Veger growled.

"Getting your pet to fight your battles for you, Kleiver?" Graham asked derisively. He grunted when Veger responded by shoving the end of the gun into his temple.

"I should blow your damn head off right now," Veger said. "Get this through your skull. _I_ bested Anna in combat, _I_ am responsible for her death. Leave Kleiver alone. It's not his fault your wife couldn't hold her own against a 'little rat'. Maybe the _real_ fluke was that she survived out here for as long as she did."

Graham probably would have snapped the ottsel's neck if not for the gun in his face. As it was, he had to make do with glaring daggers. "You should have died."

"As you've said. And as _I've_ said, leave Kleiver alone. Getting your revenge by going after the people I care about is the mark of cruelty and cowardice. But then, I'd bet your beloved wife would approve, wouldn't she?"

"Enough." Kleiver had been watching with a mixture of bewilderment and gratification, but that last comment told him it was time to end this. "Let 'im go, Veger. 'E knows well enough that if 'e goes after ya, it's a one-way ticket to the Wasteland."

"I think he's already established that Spargus's law means nothing to him," Veger replied. "He tried to kick Sig off the throne. He tried to kill you."

"Trust me, 'e ain't a threat anymore," Kleiver said. "Just... let 'im go. Please."

Veger sighed. He hated the idea of letting Graham go free, but Kleiver sounded so... sad. Defeated. To disobey him now would be like kicking a puppy. Slowly, Veger lowered the gun and stepped off of Graham's stomach. While the man got to his feet, Veger removed the ammunition cartridge. Like hell he was returning a loaded weapon.

Graham slung the gun over his shoulder. Giving the two one more glare, he walked down the street. Once he was out of sight, Kleiver sighed and looked at his sidekick. "Ya didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did. I couldn't stand by and watch him kill you," Veger replied.

"I meant, ya didn't have to talk shit about Anna like that."

"... Oh." Veger hadn't stopped to think about how Kleiver would feel hearing Anna insulted. All he had thought about was letting Graham know what scum he and his family were. He'd momentarily forgotten that Kleiver was friends with that scum. "I... I'm sorry."

"Yer sayin' that a lot lately, aren't ya?" Kleiver said bitterly. "Get inside an' clean yerself up. Yer bleedin'."

Veger's hand went to his chest and came away wet, sticky and red. Indeed, that little tussle had aggravated his wound. The ottsel cursed softly. Being injured was starting to become a regular occurrence, and by now he was more annoyed with it than anything else.

With one last guilt-ridden glance at Kleiver, Veger went inside their home and headed to the bathroom. When he came out, he saw Kleiver getting ready to leave. "Where are you going?"

"The monastery," Kleiver replied. "Gonna see if they know what Anna's funeral arrangements are. I don' care what Graham says, I'm goin'."

"May I... come with you?" Veger asked carefully.

"Why the 'ell d'ya wanna go?"

"I want to speak to Seem."

"Fine, whatever. C'mon." Kleiver lumbered out the door and Veger rushed to catch up. It was soon clear that Kleiver wasn't in the mood to allow Veger to ride on his shoulder, and the ottsel had to walk quickly in order to keep up with his roommate's strides.

Seem was outside the monastery when they arrived. She was surprised to see Veger up and about so soon, but she was even more surprised to see that he wasn't on Kleiver's shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Kleiver. Veger," the monk greeted them.

"'Ey, Seem. Ya don' 'appen to know when Anna's funeral is, do ya?" Kleiver asked.

"I am not sure what the arrangements are," Seem said, "but if you go inside and ask Brother Nawadei, he can tell you. I believe he will be overseeing the service."

"Great. Thanks." Kleiver disappeared into the sanctuary, leaving Veger and Seem alone outside.

Veger cleared his throat. "Hello, Seem..."

"Hello." Hoo boy, this was awkward. "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually, I... I just need someone to talk to."

Seem regarded him for a moment, then sat down on the stairs. She patted the space next to her, and Veger sat. "What is troubling you?"

"Everything," Veger muttered. "I feel as lost as I did on my first day here. I've tried so hard to do the right thing, but..." He looked away sadly. "I don't think I know what right and wrong are anymore."

"Hmm." Seem studied the ottsel. For as long as she'd known him, he was confident that he was in the right. In the beginning, she had believed that his heart was in the right place. Even when she discovered some of his less-than-noble actions, she believed that he still meant well, but had become deluded. Then, she came to the conclusion that she was mistaken in that regard. He wasn't lying to himself, but to everyone around him. He knew what he was doing was wrong and just didn't care.

But looking at him now, Seem got the feeling that she had been right the first time. Veger really had been trying to do the right thing, but he ended up way over his head, and he had clung to his black and white views of morality while the world around him grew grayer and grayer. At last, it seemed, he finally realized how foolish he'd been.

"What brought this on?" Seem asked. "Do you regret ending Anna's life?"

"No. Well, maybe... She was a wretched woman, and I acted in self-defense. That's not what's bothering me. What's bothering me are the consequences." Veger sighed, dejected. "Because of me, Kleiver has lost his friends. His friends were also her friends, and because of what I've done, they hate him. Graham came by today to tell Kleiver that he wasn't welcome at her funeral. They got into an argument and Graham was ready to kill Kleiver. All because he wouldn't betray me."

Veger looked back up at her, looking for all the world like a lost puppy. "I'm... I'm scared, Seem. I'm scared that they'll hurt Kleiver, and I don't know what to do to stop it."

Seem placed a hand on Veger's shoulder. "Do not fret, Veger. This will pass. What happened in the Arena yesterday was not unique, at least not in this regard. Friends and family do battle with each other all the time. While I cannot speak for Graham, I am sure that the remainder of Kleiver's friends will not hate him for your actions, and I am reasonably sure that they will not take action against you, either."

"But if Graham gets to Kleiver..." Veger started.

"Kleiver will be fine. Graham may have been ready to kill him, as you said, but that was in the heat of the moment, was it not? So long as his temper does not get the better of his judgment, Graham will not harm Kleiver." Seem offered him a smile. "I must admit... I am glad to see you like this."

"Depressed? Scared out of my mind?" Veger guessed sourly.

Seem chuckled. "No. Compassionate."

Veger looked at her in confusion.

"Have you not noticed? You came here for comfort, for advice, but it was not for yourself. You came to me out of concern for someone else. You have not expressed fear for your own life, but for Kleiver's. You have grown so much during your time here, and I am so proud of you."

For the first time in a long time, Veger felt like everything was going to be alright. He smiled at the monk. "Thank you, Seem."

* * *

Seem's prediction turned out to be spot-on. Kleiver attended Anna's funeral as he planned, but he managed to keep out of Graham's sight, and there were no more fights between them. Kleiver's other friends never held any ill will towards him, and though he'd lost two friends, Kleiver managed to move on and get back into the swing of things.

Over the next few weeks, the pace of Spargus's expansion picked up substantially. Rumors started circulating that the Kras City Grand Championship was adding the Wasteland as a venue, and that a lot of the budget for the construction came from the Racing Commission.

Around the time those rumors were confirmed, Kleiver received a visit from an old friend. He and his sidekick were in the garage, putting the final touches on a new vehicle when the gate opened. In rolled a slick ride, obviously better suited for the mean streets of the city than off-roading in the desert. Kleiver and Veger stopped their work to see who would drive a sports car out into the Wasteland. While Veger had hoped to never see the driver again, Kleiver was absolutely thrilled.

"'Ey, Shiv! Welcome 'ome!" the fat Wastelander said.

Shiv parked his car next to his old friend and climbed out. He'd traded in his Wastelander garb for a more urban racer look, but he otherwise looked exactly the same. "Good to see you too, Kleiver. I see you've built a few new rides. Very nice."

Kleiver grinned and patted the wheel well on his newest hot rod proudly. "Yup. What would this city be wit'out me, huh?"

"A couple hundred pounds lighter," Veger said.

Kleiver shot him a dirty look before regarding his old friend. "So, what brings ya back to Spargus?"

"Recruitment," Shiv said. "One of my teammates ran into a bit of bad fortune. He accidentally shot himself in the back of the head after trying to quit the race."

Veger's stomach churned. He looked at Kleiver, who either didn't catch on to what Shiv was really saying, or didn't care. He wasn't sure which explanation he preferred.

"That's a damn shame," Kleiver said.

"Sure is. So, now we've got an open spot, and I remembered what you'd said when I left." Shiv smirked as he saw Kleiver's eyes light up. "You in?"

"Are ya kiddin'? O' course I'm in!" Kleiver laughed. "Like I'd ever give up the chance to show 'em all what a _real_ racer looks like!"

Veger groaned quietly. Artifact runs were bad enough. He couldn't imagine combat racing with a bunch of gangsters on behalf of the most ruthless crime lord on the planet was going to be any better. He had to nip this thing in the bud now.

"Ahem, Kleiver? Need I remind you that you have responsibilities here?" Veger said. "Namely, helping to run this city? This is a busy time for Spargus and your people need you here."

"Mmm... That's true," Kleiver said.

Shiv glared at Veger for a moment before a smirk came to his face. He had one last trump card. "Oh, I forgot to mention something. Word is that Mizo's biggest rival's got some real A-listers lined up. I think you might know one of them. Some kid named... what was it... Jak?"

"Jak?" Kleiver and Veger said in unison.

"Yeah, wasn't he that blond kid Damas took a shine to? Beat you in that race almost a year ago?" Shiv continued. "Won the Haven City zoomer races a couple years ago too, or so I hear."

Veger looked at Kleiver, who didn't like having his embarrassing defeat brought up. "Forget what I said. We need to go to Kras and _crush_ him."

Kleiver nodded and gave Shiv a smirk of his own. "Well, I guess it's settled, then. Tell yer boss that 'e's got 'is replacement."

With a grin, Shiv pulled a paper out of his pocket and handed it to Kleiver. "This'll get you into Mizo's headquarters in Kras. The tournament starts in a month, on the first. Make sure you show up the day before so you can get the rundown from the boss." The gangster got back into his car. "See ya then!" Gunning the engine, he pulled out of the garage and tore across the desert.

Veger climbed onto Kleiver's shoulder and looked down at the paper. His eyes widened when he saw the reward Kleiver was promised for taking Mizo's offer. "That's more than I made in a _year_ back in Haven!"

"That _is_ a nice sum o' money," Kleiver agreed before grinning at Veger. "But the _real_ prize will be turning Jak into roadkill."

Veger grinned back. "And I look forward to being there to see it."


	17. As Your Voice Fades

"No, that won't work... No... no... no... _damn it_!"

Veger winced as a crash sounded from the floor above him. Kleiver had been working on various designs for a new race car for the past couple weeks, and every time he found a concept he liked, the model he built revealed some flaw that would make it less than perfect. And he was getting more and more frustrated as he began to run out of ideas.

Following the irritable grumbling, Veger ventured up the stairs and found Kleiver at the one table in his workshop that had enough bare surface to work at. The Wastelander had dark bags under his eyes from his long nights up there, and wads of paper were strewn about the floor. Evidently, he decided to stop wasting time getting up to throw them out and just started tossing them in the general direction of the trash can. There was also a pile of empty coffee mugs on the floor, some of which were cracked from falling off the table.

The ottsel picked his way through the mess and climbed up onto the table. Kleiver had set out a fresh sheet of paper and was staring at it intently, pencil in hand, but he had yet to make a mark. Gingerly, Veger placed a hand on his roommate's shoulder.

"Hey... are you alright?"

Kleiver glared at him.

"Okay, stupid question," Veger admitted. He took the pencil from Kleiver's hand and placed it in a cup on the desk. "Come on, you need to take a break."

"I'm fine," Kleiver grunted, grabbing the pencil back and shrugging the ottsel's hand off. "I'll take a break when I get this shit done."

"You'll find it easier to get it done if you just take a few moments to clear your head," Veger insisted. "Believe me, neglecting to take care of yourself will not make the answer come any faster, and it's probably what's making this so difficult for you."

"But I'm runnin' outta time to make a new racer," Kleiver said.

"Who says you _need_ to make a new racer? You've already single-handedly rebuilt Spargus's entire fleet of automobiles. I'm sure one of those is just right for the job," Veger replied. "Why don't we take one for a test drive out in the Wasteland?"

"Mmm..." Kleiver was weakening. Veger tried to think of something else he could say to tip the scales. He spied Kleiver's collection of artifacts on a shelf in the corner and grinned to himself.

"You know... I think I remember reading about a kind of engine the Precursors made that were so efficient, they could effectively double the amount of turbo a vehicle could use. I wonder if we could find one out in the Wasteland..."

"Yer 'bout as transparent as thin air, y'know that?" Kleiver asked, partially annoyed. Despite that, he was smiling. Veger gave him a jocular smirk and shrugged. The Wastelander stood up and stretched. "Alright, if it'll getcha off me back, we'll go fer a ride."

Veger grinned and climbed onto his roommate's shoulder. "I swear, the things I put up with..."

"Y'know, I was about t'say the same thing," Kleiver replied.

* * *

There were few things Veger hated more than riding shotgun while Kleiver tore through the desert in one of his buggies. One of those things was being thrown from the car while Kleiver tore through the desert. This was an unfortunately common occurrence, stemming from Kleiver's wild driving and the lack of seat belts.

On this particular outing, Kleiver had chosen a rather hefty vehicle. It wasn't particularly fast and it handled like a lead balloon, but it had plenty of armor and a good turbo booster, which made it perfect for ramming other cars off the road. Kleiver was practicing hairpin turns when he hit a pretty sizable rock. It didn't flip the car, but it was enough of a jolt to hurl Veger several yards into the oasis.

The ottsel trudged out of the water, fur caked with mud, dripping plant life clinging to him. He coughed and gagged for a few moments, having swallowed some of the water. And he was sure he'd swallowed some algae or something as well. Kleiver drove up to the oasis, took one look at him, and started laughing his ass off.

"Y-Y-Ya look like a drowned rat!" the Wastelander howled.

Veger glared at him. "I came close to... _koff, koff_... actually _being_ a drowned rat. Do you think you could stop your hysterics long enough to... _koff_... get us home?"

"S-Sure, mate. Hop in," Kleiver snickered.

Veger climbed into the passenger's seat and coughed a few times. Each successive cough grew more violent, until he managed to hack up a lunger. He spit it over the side of the car. "Disgusting..." he muttered. He coughed again, quietly this time.

"You okay?" Kleiver asked.

"I'll be fine... _koff_... I just got a mouthful of that disgusting water, that's all," Veger replied. "I thought oases were... _koff, koff_... supposed to be refreshing."

"Not that one. There's all kinds o' weird shit floatin' in there, along with _actual_ shit."

"Disgusting," Veger said. "I hope this little... _koff_... adventure was worth it."

"Oh, it was. I think y'were right. The perfect racer was right under me nose the whole time." Kleiver patted the steering wheel. "With a few adjustments, this lil' baby will win me the tournament no problem!"

"Will one of those adjustments be seat belts?" Veger asked. "_Koff_... please?"

"I'll think about it."

* * *

The next couple weeks were very busy for Kleiver. In addition to his regular duties, he spent every spare moment of his time tweaking his ride and taking it out into the Wasteland to test it. He likely would have forgotten to eat and sleep if Veger hadn't been there to remind him.

Veger, for his part, tended to stay home when Kleiver didn't need his help in the garage. He hadn't been feeling very well as of late, and he would need his rest if he was to accompany Kleiver throughout the tournament.

Soon, the day they were scheduled to leave was upon them. The day before their departure, Kleiver finished making arrangements for someone to fill in for him. He was still the city's best mechanic, but there were enough amateurs around to keep things functioning while they were gone.

As night began to fall, the duo checked over Kleiver's cars one last time. Kleiver wanted to be sure they would last awhile before they would need any help. They were like his babies, and he hated the idea of leaving them in the care of those lesser mechanics.

"_Koff, koff, koff_... They're fine, Kleiver," Veger said. His voice was raspy from his near-constant coughing. "Can we... _koff, koff_... please... _koff, koff, koff_... go h-_koff_-ome?"

"Wouldja knock it off?" Kleiver snapped. "Ya've been an even bigger pain in the ass than normal lately, between yer bitching and yer hacking."

"I'm not... _koff_... enjoying this any more than... _koff, koff_... you," Veger replied.

"Whatever. I need to adjust the fuel gauge on this puppy. Go get me pliers, will ya?"

Veger slid off the Wastelander's shoulder and walked across the sand to the tool box by the racer, several feet away. A sudden wave of nausea hit the ottsel and he stumbled. He leaned on the side of the car, breathing heavily. He coughed once, twice, and on the third time, he couldn't hold it down anymore.

The loud retching got Kleiver's attention, and he looked up to see the paint job on his racer be ruined. "Aw, Veger, what the... hell?" Kleiver started to yell at him, but stopped when he got a good look at his sidekick. The ottsel was shaking, shivering as if it was cold. He stumbled away from the car, coughing violently, before collapsing.

The ottsel lay there, huffing and puffing, gasping for air in between his excruciating wheezes. His throat burned and his head throbbed, blood pounding through his veins. And the heat, the unbearable heat. He had been freezing mere moments ago, now why was it so hot?

Around him, the world morphed into a dark and monstrous hellscape. Dark Eco oozed from the ground and flowed toward him. Veger tried to get up, and had barely gotten to his feet when he backed into something. He looked up to find himself staring into pitch-black eyes, the soulless pits of a Dark Eco monster. With a burst of fear-fueled adrenaline, he dodged the monster's attempt to grab him and ducked into a cave. Still crouched like an animal, he turned to the entrance in time to see the monster's hand reach in. Desperate to protect himself, he swiped at it with his claws.

"Ouch!" Kleiver looked at his hand. Four thin scratches marred the backs of his fingers, skin red but not broken. The Wastelander slipped around to the other side of the car and looked underneath. Veger was still looking out the other side, and hadn't noticed Kleiver move. Carefully, Kleiver was able to grab Veger by his tail and pull him out.

Veger cried out in fear. The monster held him tightly against its chest. He struggled to free himself, but it was in vain. His strength was fading fast, and he couldn't have moved a fly, never mind fight off a dark beast.

Kleiver stared down at the ottsel trying weakly to squirm out of his grasp. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. Kleiver shook the ottsel gently. "Veger... Veger! Snap out of it!"

A raspy cough shook the ottsel's frame. Veger blinked up at the face of the monster, which changed into that of his friend as the hallucination dissolved, giving him one last moment of clarity.

"K... Klei...ver...?" Veger asked, voice frail and barely audible. He inhaled desperately, as if this one shaky gasp could save him, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. With a strangled sigh, his body gave one last spasm before going limp.

"Veger? Veger! Wake up!" Kleiver tried to shake his sidekick back into the land of the living, but it didn't work. Fighting back the panic, Kleiver jumped into the nearest car. Flooring it, the car burst through the garage doors and tore through the desert city's streets.

He had to get help. But as the ottsel in his arms grew stiff and cold, he began to fear that it was already too late.


	18. Epilogue

It was over. It was over, and now he was going home.

Kleiver drove through the desert, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Everything had just gone to shit the past few weeks, and the icing on the cake was that he'd failed to get his revenge. To get _Veger's_ revenge...

The Wastelander's grip on the steering wheel tightened as his thoughts went to his sidekick. His friend. That day was so recent, but it seemed so long ago. He had been ready to take on the toughest racers in the world, and then... and then Veger got sick. Real sick. He'd never felt a fear like that before in his life.

He remembered that day vividly. He practically broke down the monastery doors in his hurry to get help. Scared the crap out of the monks, but he hadn't cared. Seem had come running to see what all the hubbub was, and when she saw Veger... The poor girl looked devastated.

Seem was trembling when she took the ottsel from him. She touched Veger's face gently, ignoring Kleiver's pleas for her to hurry up and help him already. She shook her head and started to tear up. Grieving eyes met his, and she said the words that broke his heart.

_"He's already gone."_

Kleiver couldn't believe it. After everything the little rat had lived through, this was how he died? Sick and weak, like some common pest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Veger was a Wastelander, damn it, and he deserved better!

In a rage, Kleiver lashed out. He didn't care what he hit: monk, furniture, wall; he just needed to break something. He ended up knocking over a shelf. Artifacts tumbled to the floor, scattering this way and that. Monks cried out in horror as some shattered, sending sparks of various colors of eco into the air.

And then it happened. They couldn't figure out what caused it. Kleiver didn't care. All he cared about is what it _meant_. He hadn't seen it, and likely would've kept destroying the monastery's property if he hadn't heard Seem gasp. It wasn't a horrified gasp, like her monks. It was a gasp of wonder, of... joy?

Kleiver whirled around, curious. When he saw what she was looking at, he gasped as well. Veger was... moving! His chest was rising and falling and his fingers were twitching. His breath was shallow and erratic, but he was breathing.

Seem ran off down a corridor. Kleiver wanted to follow, but the rest of the monks stopped him. He wasn't allowed in that particular part of the monastery without Seem's express permission. Instead, he was forced to wait in the entrance hall, wondering what was going on and praying that it wasn't just a fluke, that Veger really had come back to them.

Several hours passed before Seem returned. She led Kleiver to the room they had set Veger up in, and explained that he was still gravely ill. They didn't know what had revived him, but whatever it was, it was no guarantee that he would live. They had taken some blood and were running tests to determine what made him sick in the first place. Hopefully, they would get the results in time to begin treatment.

Kleiver spent the next couple weeks by Veger's side. The ottsel wasn't comatose, but he slept a lot. He regained consciousness on rare occasions, but when he did he was delirious and incoherent. He could barely eat without throwing it back up, and he was becoming frailer as time passed. If the illness didn't kill him, he would surely starve to death.

Shiv had come to Spargus to find out why Kleiver hadn't shown up. Kleiver had explained what happened, and Shiv seemed less than impressed. He warned Kleiver that Mizo wasn't someone you wanted to snub, and Kleiver said that he would be happy to race for Mizo once Veger was well again. Shiv questioned why Kleiver would blow off that kind of opportunity for a mangy rat, and Kleiver questioned why Shiv would want to be punched in the face. Shiv left shortly thereafter, nursing a black eye.

Eventually, the ottsel had a moment of lucidity. During that moment, he told Kleiver to go ahead and race. He'd be fine watching the tournament from afar. Kleiver promised that he'd crush Jak and bring home that trophy, and Veger assured him that he'd be catching hell if he didn't.

That was the last time they'd spoken. Now Kleiver was back in Spargus, having failed twice over. He hadn't defeated Jak, and he hadn't won the championship. He wasn't looking forward to getting an earful from that little rat, that was for sure. He could hear Veger's incessant bitching now: "How could you lose? You had the perfect racer! I thought you were good at this shit waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Resigned to the inevitable whining, Kleiver tromped up the monastery steps and unceremoniously shoved his way through the door. The monks inside looked at their visitor with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Just because he was an alderman didn't mean he had the right to waltz in like he owned the place, after all. Not that Kleiver ever gave two shits about common courtesy.

"Welcome home, Kleiver," one of the monks said with obviously forced civility. "What brings you to our humble monastery?"

"Just comin' to check up on Veger," Kleiver grunted as he walked across the foyer towards the door leading to the infirmary.

The monks looked at each other. "Um..." one of them said. "He... isn't here anymore."

Kleiver stopped halfway through the door. He turned and stared at them, as if half of his brain wasn't registering what they'd just said, and the other half just stopped working from sheer shock. "... What?"

"He, erm, checked out a week ago," the monk said.

"Did no one tell you?" the first monk asked.

Kleiver didn't answer, instead barreling down the corridor, ignoring the monks' protests. He nearly knocked over several people carrying various medical supplies before he found the room he was looking for. He threw the door open, only to find that the monks hadn't been playing a cruel joke. The room was empty, and looked like it had been for awhile.

"... No..." This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening! Okay, Veger was still in pretty rough shape when he left, but he was recovering! He was supposed to be getting better, and now he'd been dead for a week? And why hadn't he found out about it earlier? Why hadn't he stopped in to say "howdy" whenever he was in town? The tournament had dragged him back to Spargus often enough. Surely he could have found time to at least make sure Veger wasn't dead.

Numbly, Kleiver left the monastery. Directionless, he wandered through Spargus's streets until he ended up at the Arena. There were no fights going on today, and it was eerily quiet as he ascended the stairs and sat down in the entryway. He stared out into the Arena, the one thing in the city that hadn't changed in the past year.

Now that he thought about it, a lot more than Spargus's layout had changed. Since the loss of their main adversaries, the Marauders, and a radical shift in how the government functioned, Spargus was starting to become... civilized. From what he'd seen of Haven and Kras, Spargus was looking more and more like them, but with less of a social stigma against carrying large weapons.

The Wastelander sighed. He didn't have much of an opinion on the direction Spargus's progress was taking, but Veger had been thrilled. He didn't complain about the state of things as much as he used to, and it became less of a chore to convince him to leave the house. In fact, in the last few days he'd been healthy, he seemed almost... happy. Okay, maybe "happy" was a bit of a stretch, but he wasn't the utterly broken pile of misery that he was when he first arrived.

His friend had been so close to actually _being_ happy. When he talked about how he thought Seem might actually let him into the monastery to do research, his words carried an almost child-like glee to them. Kleiver hadn't realized that Veger was capable of being excited over anything, but there it was. And he seemed to have grown a sense of humor during his time in Spargus, even if it was of the snarky everyone-but-me-sucks variety, and the grumpy little shit sometimes actually _smiled_ and _laughed_.

Why hadn't he appreciated his friendship when it was there? Why hadn't he noticed how sick Veger was and tried to get him help? Why did the Precursors see fit to cut him down now that he was finally turning his life around? It just wasn't fair!

"It just ain't fair..." Kleiver murmured.

"Life isn't fair. Also, who are you talking to?"

Kleiver gasped and looked towards the source of the voice. He could hardly believe his eyes. Before him stood Veger, looking for all the world like he hadn't spent several weeks wasting away in a hospital. He was clean, and while he was thin, he didn't look so frail that a gentle breeze could snap him in half. He was smiling serenely, something Kleiver never thought he would see.

"V... Veger?" Slowly, Kleiver reached towards his sidekick and... yanked his ear.

"Ouch!" Veger yelped and slapped the hand away. The smile was gone, now, replaced by a scowl as he rubbed his ear. "What was that for?"

"I... I thought y'were a ghost." Kleiver's face split into a grin. "Yer alive!"

"Of course I'm alive, you dolt," Veger said, "why wouldn't I be?"

"The, the monks said ya'd... 'checked out'," Kleiver replied.

"They meant it _literally_. As in, I was discharged because I'd recovered." Veger coughed. "... Mostly."

Kleiver sighed. He was so relieved. Everything that had happened in the past year wasn't for nothing, after all. Veger was alive, Veger was healthy, and he could continue rebuilding his life. All was right with the world.

"Now, I've been meaning to talk to you about your performance in the race..."

Yup. Everything was _just peachy_.

**Closing comments: Believe it or not, this whole fic was actually written for the purpose of leading up to the end of last chapter. Veger falling ill and Kleiver's subsequent freak-out was meant to be the climax, the big emotional thing, but the fact that Veger almost died at least twice beforehand kind of killed the impact. Oops :P**

**I also meant for As Your Voice Fades to be the end. It was going to be longer, and I was going to leave it ambiguous as to whether Veger survived or not and leave you to fill in the blanks. However, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to make an ending ambiguous and still satisfying. Then I was going to bite the bullet and just make him die, but I've had plenty of misery thrown at me IRL lately and I didn't want to add to it.**

**Plus, I thought that this would make a good prequel to another fic idea I had ;)**


End file.
